


Greens and Blues

by Paxella



Series: To Be With You [3]
Category: Rules of Engagement (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 69,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxella/pseuds/Paxella
Summary: The holidays see the gang through new dramas, mishaps, love and laughter. [Part 3 of To Be With You]





	1. Prologue: How We Got Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 3 in my ongoing Rules of Engagement series; Russell and Timmy have been married for several months and are dealing with all of the trials that being honest to goodness husbands to one another entails. Jeff and Audrey are still expecting their second child, Audrey having just accepted a work at home job, and Adam and Jen are trying to get pregnant while planning a rather chaotic wedding for their families. Drama and a dose of nonsense unfold over the course of the holidays and beyond with the help of canonical secondary cast (who's gonna show up...?).
> 
> (If you've come this far you get the gist with the E rating -- a forewarning for sexual content in future chapters, and generally you'll see it coming or you'll get a warning.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I introduced Timmy's therapist Linda in this one-off story: [I Want You Right Now](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8045545).

_I'm not together, and you know it's true._  
_My bits all wander in the trees._  
_And if I ever seem a little strange,_  
_Would you excuse me, please?_  
_\- The Pixies, Greens and Blues_

 

* * *

 

_6 months ago..._

_April_

 

Timmy's head hurt. Timmy's head did a lot of hurting these days. Deep, complicated hurting that forced him into thinking ever deeper, more complicated thoughts.

"I hate him...and then I don't. It's as though I want to stab him, and then rush to cauterize the wound. To shove him from a cliff and then rush to the bottom to catch him. As if we were in a burning building and perhaps...perhaps we'd set the thing on fire in the first place and now we're both flailing madly with mere glasses of water, trying like mad men to put the damned thing out."

His therapist Linda showed no signs of judgement; she never did. If anything, she held Timmy in rather high regard, finding his revelations admirable, if not a touch rudimentary. He had a marvelous way with words, sometimes, a real grasp on the situation beyond anything she could provide him. He knew exactly what was happening...even if he didn't want to face the core of it.

"It sounds like you've given some thought to what we talked about last week. After...the incident. With his new girlfriend who seemed an awful lot like you, and the, uh...mistaken identity..."

"He wouldn't discuss it," replied Timmy flatly. And then he abruptly dropped the issue.

They went on to discuss the weather, and Timmy's family back home, and anything he could conceive of for the rest of the hour...

Anything aside from Russell.

 

* * *

 

"I've quit Russell."

Linda attempted to refrain from revealing a touch of shock. Perhaps it wasn't so much the statement itself, but the manner in which he'd said it. He had sat down, and without so much as a greeting, without any kind of warning, he had thrust the news upon her in bold, self-assured words. Not 'I've quit my job,' that would have been an entirely different matter...no. _'I've quit Russell.'_

"What happened?" she queried gently. No notepad, no analyzing before the facts. She felt compelled to add, _I'm sorry,_ for something in his face seemed to require such a response, but no.

"You won't believe it." Timmy took to speaking faster and faster as he attempted to explain the situation. "He...had a tracking chip implanted in me. In my arm, under the guise of a mandatory flu shot. He'd been literally tracking my every move, obsessively, possessively, as if he owns me...of course he claims he has a reasonable explanation, as if there could ever be such a thing, I mean, my god, the man is actually certifiably insane, he's out of his ever loving mind, why in the bloody hell would he--!!"

"Timmy! Timmy, breathe...center..."

Positively flustered, breathing rapid and out of pace, Timmy held himself quite small, eyes closing down in an attempt to contain himself.

"What was his 'reasonable explanation'? I mean, of course, that's completely out of line, nobody should ever do that to anyone, but what..." She watched as Timmy's eyes opened slowly, finding her face as she spoke. "What did he say?"

"It's asinine." Timmy scoffed several times in punctuation of this claim. "He said something about not being able to find me one day and being scared." He took to murmuring words; he didn't really want to say them out loud. He'd repeated them in his head a few too many times, already. "He said he doesn't know what he'd do without me. Genuinely, as if...as if I were more than some errand boy, some dog to lick upon his heels whenever he whistles." He leaned towards Linda, speaking more slowly now in an attempt to retain his composure: "But he doesn't mean it. He only said it to keep me from quitting."

"Why do you think he did it, then?"

"Chipped me? Because he's a megalomaniac, because he thinks I'm a possession, o-or a pet who he can keep on a leash, I don't...I don't know."

"Any chance he's telling the truth?"

Timmy took a very deep breath, attempting to breathe some clarity in through his lungs, into his brain.

"No. I don't believe he means a word of it."

A lie.

And he knew it.

 

* * *

 

"My new job is wonderful," Timmy said with a broad smile. "My boss treats me stupendously well, never an insult or a racially insensitive remark to be heard. My salary is considerably improved, I'm actually earning a living wage. And here's the cincher...I get to go home at the end of the work day. No accompanying anyone to bars for nightly 'booty patrol,' no trips to local theaters of ill repute for double showings of films of a particular ilk..." He sighed out. "In 3D."

"But are you happy, Timmy?"

Timmy's smile sank slowly down, his eyes meeting Linda's. He knew what she was asking. She knew that he understood the question, but he seemed highly reluctant to answer.

"Timmy...do you miss Russ--"

Timmy cleared his throat. "My new job is wonderful."

 

* * *

 

They'd been talking about something entirely unrelated, somehow having avoided the topic completely; when all at once Timmy's mind wandered. "I believe he has my cardigan."

"Your cardigan?"

"I believe it's in the office. That is...my old office, his...his office. We spoke, he said he hasn't seen it."

"Oh...Russ--"

"Knowing him, he's probably doing unsavory things with it." A statement full of snark, laced in irritation...but carefully manipulated, and both of the room's occupants knew it.

Timmy and Linda took to their usual stare down, the one that often followed when Timmy made some declaration worthy of further reflection. She knew Timmy would offer a follow-up statement if she'd give him enough time.

His expression was hard to place. Utter disgust, reluctance to accept this proposition? Far from.

Something else. A strange sort of intrigue.

"Do...do you think he would be..." He cleared his throat. "Never...never mind."

 

* * *

 

_May_

 

Timmy had been sitting in Linda's office for a solid five minutes, not talking.

He had called yesterday, seeking to cancel their meeting; she had somehow persuaded him to come in. He'd missed his last session. He sounded like he needed to talk more than ever.

Something was clearly wrong.

And now he wasn't talking.

"Timmy...? Whenever you're ready."

"Don't, uhm..." He groaned out very weakly, his voice barely audible in the still of the room. "Don't be alarmed."

This seemed a rather odd statement. "You sound like it's the end of the world."

"It may be. I've yet to decide."

"What happened, Timmy?"

"This is going to...I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."

"Well," she began slowly, "the last time we talked, you said work was still going good. Your new boss was treating you well, you finally had time to yourself, that you were--"

"You asked once if I missed him." Timmy's voice caught a bit. Just a bit, as if he might get emotional. He choked this emotion back, whatever the emotion might have been, steadying himself.

"What did we decide?" Linda asked, leaning forward a little, arms resting gently on her legs. A friendly position, eager to listen.

Timmy fidgeted lightly, avoiding the answer, but his voice grew a little more assured, a little more comfortable. "Something strange has happened. I...we...may I stand?"

"Yes, of course."

And so Timmy stood, taking to nervous pacing as he spoke. This was the only way he could do this, his head spinning with a dizzying sort of heat; he'd never get the words out otherwise. He spoke quickly in an attempt to release the story all at once.

"Okay, so you're aware of the tracking chip that led to the ultimate demise of our working relationship."

"Right."

"Yes, well, it would seem that Russell, in his natural stupidity has chosen to destroy my livelihood once and for all and failed to submit simple documentation, leading to the termination of my work visa."

"Oh...oh, no." Linda was genuinely concerned with this statement. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Timmy, are you facing deportation?"

He spoke his next words in a surprisingly neutral manner, not skipping a beat as he carried on pacing at a steady rate in front of the woman: "I was indeed in fear of deportation, but it should be fine now, as I've married Russell. So you see, now that all that's been settled, I--"

"HOLD UP!" Linda stood now, and forgoing all professionalism, snatched Timmy by either arm, looking her client square in the eyes. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't ordinarily do this, but you're going to have to repeat that last part, Timmy, because I really don't think I heard you correctly..."

Timmy cleared his throat, glancing awkwardly towards his feet. "Yes. Yes, you heard correctly."

"You married him? Russell? Your boss, Russell?"

"The very same, I'm afraid so, yes."

"You're serious, Timmy? We went from 'I hate him' to 'I have repressed feelings for the guy' to _'surprise, Linda, we're married'?!_ "

Timmy looked back up at last, eyes huge, and Linda slowly released his arms, smiling apologetically.

She spoke softly to herself: "Get a grip, Linda." Returning to Timmy, "That was out of line, I'm sorry."

"No," said Timmy. "Uhm...not...not at all. I realize this is something of a shock, and I......well, there's more." He received no reply; his therapist simply waited for him to continue, sensing that he would.

He did, though hesitantly. It seemed he'd reached the part of the discussion he feared the most, his cadence turning soft, voice quite unsure of itself. "You see, I...agreed to marry him. To avoid deportation. I didn't...I didn't agree to all the rest. It just...sort of...happened."

"Define...the rest, Timmy. Can you...do you need to sit back down, are you okay?" She needed to sit down, and so she did. The shock of his statement was wearing off; she watched as he sat as well, nervously, muscles tensing, fingers gripping the arms of the chair as he sank slowly back down. "Whenever you're ready, we got through the worst of it."

"Not...not really. I haven't even told you about..." Timmy placed his head in his hands. And very softly, he asked the pertinent question: "You really think I've been repressing this?"

She regretted her outburst a moment ago. It was a blatant lack of proper conduct; it was not her place to arrive at such conclusions for him. But now that he was asking...

"Timmy, I shouldn't have said that, it wasn't right. It's not my place to decide. I mean, I can make observations in this room, I can pull from what you say, but I can't--"

"I kissed him." Practically a whisper of a confession, lost in trepidation, head still planted firmly in his hands.

Linda took a deep breath. "Oh. Well, then...then, there's a very strong possibility--"

"On the mouth," came a pitiful whine. "Tongue, the whole nine yards."

"Wow...okay, well, I--"

"We had _sex_!" A bit louder now, spitting out the words, needing desperately to release them.

"Ah." Yeah, that'd do it.

There followed a very strange mixture of guttural relief within Timmy at having set the secret free, and a churning confusion. One thing was clear. He pulled his face from his hands and looked straight into the face of the woman sitting across from him.

"I...I-I told him I love him."

An understanding nod. "That's some heavy stuff."

"Shouldn't I have? Well, he...he kept saying it, you know, I thought it only fair." Timmy flinched at the absurdity of his own words, forcing himself to control his shaking.

"If you were ready, Timmy--"

"I don't know what I was! Insane. Perhaps I've gone insane, is that possible? No, of course you can't provide such a diagnosis, I suppose I ought to save that for the psychiatrist. So sorry, I tend to...I ramble, it's a nervous tic, of course you know this. You know a great many things, perhaps too many things. I suppose then that shutting up is in due order, I'll just...I'm going to shut up now."

It took Linda's brain a moment to catch up to everything Timmy had just said. After the initial shock of these revelations, relief may have been an understatement. Years...years of yo-yoing. Years of endless talk of this man, of spewing hatred followed by pleasant chatter of how they'd spent their days together, for better or for worse. Something had desperately needed to give. Something had just given.

But Timmy looked unquestionably frightened. Sick to his stomach.

Transitions are often tumultuous.

"So...so, Timmy...how are you handling all of this?"

"My...brain hurts. I've devoted so much time to...to not doing these things I suddenly find myself doing, I mean...the last two weeks have been...he's been suddenly..." Timmy collapsed against his knees and groaned out heavily in confusion, voice muffled. "This is all so indescribably weird."

"Well, love is weird."

Timmy picked himself up slowly. How these words had been precisely the ones he'd needed to hear in this moment, he wasn't sure, but her face was so accepting. He'd needed that. Acceptance in the madness.

"He's very weird," said Timmy. He leaned back slowly in place against his chair, head falling to the side, and ran a hand against his hair. He swallowed hard. "And I'm afraid I'm stuck with him."

"Are you okay with that, Timmy? Being stuck with Russell?"

"I don't know." But when Timmy finally found the will to look back upon his therapist, there came upon his face a look of profound reflection; he was practically in shock with himself, with the gentle smile that graced his face now, the muscles of his body relaxing for once in the still quiet of the room. She took note of the change immediately.

"You've kinda been stuck with him for awhile, huh?" she said.

"Yes," said Timmy very softly. "I suppose I have."

 

* * *

 

_August (three months later)_

 

Linda opened the door of her office just a touch, peering into her waiting room. Quiet, empty save for two figures seated nervously upon the sofa there. The men hadn't noticed her, and she wasn't quick to call them in...perhaps she considered herself a bit of a spy, but she was intrigued, finally putting a face to the name she'd scrawled so many times in her notes these last few years.

The famous Russell Dunbar. Somewhat older than Timmy, dressed a touch more casually in loose denim and some sort of screen printed t-shirt...kind of a small guy, but certainly not unassuming. He seemed to take up more space in personality than physicality, shaking nervously and murmuring incoherent nonsense to ease his discomfort.

She watched now as Russell stood, brushing down his clothes; he turned to Timmy with a fidget and a shake. "How do I look?"

"What?"

He sat back down and began speaking perhaps just a touch too quickly. "Never mind, I look great, of course I look great. Yeah, come on, turn _you_ on, don't I?" He rose his brow in a decidedly voracious manner with a purse of his lips, to which Timmy supplied a disgusted snarl. Russell shrank back.

"Now, we'll have none of that today, will we? Best behavior. It's not often I'm willing to show you off. This was her idea, not mine. She thought it would be good for us to--"

"Yeah, got it." But Timmy wasn't backing down, his eyes intensely scolding. Russell sighed out heavily. "Okay, whatever, mom, I'll be good." Unwavering; man, he was scary. "Promise!"

Timmy nodded, satisfied, looking to his own lap, face softening. It was really just his own nerves setting in, and Russell knew it. A soft hand fell against the back of Timmy's neck.

"Hey..."

Timmy looked back to Russell's face and found a rush of lips meeting his, there just a moment, and Russell pulled back in a smile most affectionate. "You worry too much."

"I really..." Timmy's face turned down, hint of a smile breaking through, as though quite bashful. Ah, that drove Russell crazy; maybe Timmy knew it. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, Russell."

Russell took a quick look around an empty waiting room. "Pft, who's watching?"

From Linda's doorway, she took a small step back, feeling very much a spy in the house of Timmy. A moment later she would walk out, greet the men in the lobby, and bring them into her office to witness them bicker, put up walls, perhaps break a few. But she'd just caught her first glimpse into a piece of a life she'd only chanced to hear about until now, this singular man who had so greatly shaped reality for her client, and suddenly, things were beginning to make sense.

So this is where the story ended.

And this is where it all began.


	2. Bosses and Babies

_Waited on a line of greens and blues, just to be the next to be with you..._

_With you by my side, there is no denying, I can't wait for me and you._

 

* * *

 

162 days they'd been married. May to October. Russell had counted, placing a small checkmark beside each day in the calendar on his desk at work. Never at home; Timmy would see it there, and as all giddy teenagers in love know, you never let your crush see the scribbles secretly written about them for fear of rejection. Even now, beyond the point of possibility of soul crushing, devastating departure on Timmy's part, Russell feared showing his cards. He feared showing how much he loved him, in a giddy, childish, counting-the-days way.

Timmy could still leave, if he wanted to. Nothing was really stopping him.

162 days. How'd they managed that?

"Mr. Dunbar?"

Russell scrambled nervously to his feet, clearing his throat and his one-track mind. Work. He was at work. Business mode. He addressed his assistant in serious boss voice.

"Kevin? Everything ship-shape out front, you handle that thing with the...?"

"Yeah, got it," spoke the young man with a dismissive nod. "Great boss, got it all together, gold star."

Russell hated this kid.

"Now, two things..."

"Yeah, okay, shoot."

"Timmy called."

"Oh, for the love of..." Russell sighed out, dropping boss mode. He could be chill with this guy. The last month had found Timmy conversing with the new assistant in a quite clandestine manner in an attempt to cement him to the job post a long line of disgruntled walk-outs, and, much to Russell's chagrin, it seemed to be working. Kevin had stayed this long, anyway. "What'd he want? He has my cell, gotta go through '90s Teen Bop over here."

"What did you just call me...?"

Oh-ho-ho! He'd mildly broken the stoic composure of the thorn in his side? _Good._ "You heard me."

Kevin ran a hand across his head, brushing a flop of auburn hair past an eye. "That's the best you've got, seriously?"

Whatever. "What did Timmy say?"

"Yeah, well, you look like the place where happiness goes to die. And I should know, I've been talking with your husband."

"Hey, WHOA!" A step forward from a roaring Mr. Dunbar was somehow a bit more threatening than a laid-back Kevin had expected, setting him on full alert; point taken. Their tit-for-tat had gone a step too far.

Russell had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything he might regret. Play nice, Russell. Just a little bit longer with this one. So sure, his head would look good mounted on the wall, just _play nice_.

"What..." Russell held back a growl, "did he say?"

"He...said to stop calling him at work. You wanna hear the other thing?"

Russell had already begun making his way back to his desk. "It can wait."

"It's business related."

"Yeah, take care of that."

"Not my job, sir. With...all due respect. Sir. Also, for the record, Timmy said not to call him at work to complain about him saying to not call him at--" But Russell had already picked up the phone on his desk. "...Mr. Dunbar, are you calling your husband?"

"Private call," said Russell with a dismissive wave of his hand. And so a begrudging assistant exited his office with a mumbled _'jackass'_ under his breath, and Russell sank back to his chair, tapping fingers rapidly against his desk. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

Timmy did not sound the slightest bit pleased. "Hello, Russell..."

"Heeeey, how's work?"

"It's...work." Timmy looked around cautiously, cupping his cell phone against an ear, the cell phone he ought not to be using at all on the job. He kept it on in case of emergencies. This, of course, was not an emergency, and he knew better than to answer; he always humored him. Damn it. "You know, my job...where I'm working. Right now."

"Sounds boring."

"What are you doing, Russell? We've discussed this. Personal calls are strictly prohibited, I go on break at--"

"Tim, you've gotta come back."

Timmy's head sank to a hand, groaning internally as he allowed Russell to carry on with the same phone call he'd received almost daily since starting back to work.

"No. I really can't have this conversation again. Not right now, please..."

"Seriously, we both hate our jobs now, so why not just come back, man? Any position you want, anywhere." Russell broke slightly, resisting the double entendre, but barely; a slight chuckle across the way forced an eye roll from Timmy. "Listen, you always wanted to climb the corporate ladder, I can do that for you, you know I can!"

"I don't hate my job, Russell, I quite enjoy my job when I'm not forced away from it by hysterical phone calls, now please, if you would just--"

"I'm going crazy! This kid out front is breaking my balls, I have to actually _do_ my job now, do you know the kinda stress I'm under?!"

"Yes. I've done your job for you, I realize it's rather demanding."

"So you know! Dude, I can't do this anymore, I'm suffocating, I don't know what to do with myself! I mean I know what to _do_ with myself, but there's so many hours in the day, and then there's the chafing...damn it, _I need you_!"

"Russell...Russell, breathe. Count to five."

"Screw counting to five, man, this place sucks!"

"Russell...we'll talk after work. Not now, I'm very busy, I--" A door opened then, Timmy's new boss, and he hung up abruptly with a smile. "Oh, hello, Mr. Reynolds, just working on those reports for--"

"Good work, Timir, keep it up," spoke a busy executive with better things to do, not bothering to glance towards the man seated at the desk out front. And Timmy's gut churned.

Within that moment lurked a stupid, fleeting thought: was this really any better than his years of misery? Having thought for so long that he'd been willing his life away to a man who hadn't appreciated his efforts, much less his presence, and having come to accept that the truth was somehow very much the opposite, becoming a cog in the company wheel was something a horse of a different color.

He looked to his screen, clicking away from his work and back to his resume. _Assistant to... Assistant to... Assistant to..._ He had to get out of here.

He'd rushed back to work, desperately seeking some sense of purpose; as promised, his previous employer, one Mr. Charles, had found him a new position, albeit of the same rank, and he'd been quick to accept. Perhaps he'd aimed too low in want of some semblance of a life long gone.

Russell had tried to reason with him, pointing out their abundant financial stability. 'Shop yourself around,' he had insisted, lovingly assuring Timmy of his worth beyond that of an assistant...quite ironically, quite after the fact, but to no avail. _It's only temporary,_ Timmy assured himself. _Something else will come along. Room for advancement. Blahblahbla_ \--

Of course...if he were to be so persuaded, Russell would place him wherever he wanted within the family company. He'd finally have made it. But not on his own merits.

He'd be bedding the boss.

The prospect of having slept his way up the corporate ladder was not exactly Timmy's dream come true. He had worked too hard to succumb to such a situation, he was better than that, his self-worth would not allow him to take such an advantage.

He looked to the incoming text on his phone from Russell, a pathetic: _Please? :(_

Timmy pulled up the job listings he'd been perusing all week, the same listings, the same applications already submitted, never a call back, praying for another opportunity. _Please, let me out of here. I'm well-studied, I'm dedicated, somebody must WANT me._

Then, another text from Russell, and his gut churned again. Maybe...just maybe......

The text read: _If you come back we could fool around on breaks. ;)_

Timmy sighed out gruffly, head sinking slowly against the palm of his hand.

In frustration he muttered low, "Yes, well, that's certainly the benefits package I was looking for."

 

* * *

 

"Aaaand...there's your baby!"

Jeff's first thought was eternal gratitude that he could actually recognize the squirming form in his wife's belly as a certifiable baby, now...head, hands, feet...holy crap. _That was a baby._ Well, but then what else was it supposed to be, an alien? Did still look a little like an alien.

"See that? That little Xenomorph's your baby brother or sister, Shea," he informed the curious five month old he bounced lightly in his arms.

Jeff's second thought upon looking at Audrey's face was how blissfully happy his wife was. She was glowing. And not that 'pregnancy glow' that was actually a combination of hormone tears and sweat, although he could spot the start of happy tears...no, she was genuinely, blissfully happy.

"This is real," Audrey said finally. "It's actually real."

"Well, you've been growing," said Dr. Sachs, moving the wand slowly over Audrey's stomach, gaining additional views. "And so has your baby. Your actually real baby. And yeah, looks like a whopper!"

At this Audrey's broad smile fell, her voice dropping. "How big we talkin'? I mean, uhhh..."

"Ha! Don't worry about it, Audrey...where there's a will, there's a way."

"Well, Will's not the one pushing out the whopper of a baby, so..."

"Now, listen, doc..." Jeff spoke softly, confidentially, man to man. "You saw how Audrey acted when she got a good look at Brenda, and this time it's gonna be her business doin' all the dirty work, so...give it to us straight, how many stitches are we talkin'?"

"Stitches?!" Audrey croaked from her spot on the table.

"Now, Brenda was pretty vague on the details, but from the sounds of it, that place was kind of a disaster area...really threw off her curve ball for awhile..."

Dr. Sachs nodded in consideration, as if comparing all the 'disaster areas' of his past deliveries, weighing them in comparison, trying to determine how Audrey might size up in this situation.

Audrey's mouth pulled in taught irritation, but before she could voice her objections to the audacity of the men in the room, Dr. Sachs spoke again, proving himself worthy of sparing his life.

"Now, Jeff, every delivery is different, and Audrey, ultrasounds only give us an estimation of size...but what I _am_ certain of is the sex of the baby. Now, the two of you want to know, did we decide?"

"Nope. No way, uh-uh," came Audrey's assured reply.

"We, uh...decided," said Jeff, somewhat less certain of his response.

"Well, didn't we decide?" asked Audrey, confidence waning a bit.

"No, we did, uh, we decided. This is probably the last kid, knowing just sets up a bunch of expectations, we just want to focus on being happy that this baby is here, healthy and everything, the sex doesn't change that." A bit rehearsed, perhaps.

Audrey smiled broadly. "Plus it's like a happy little surprise."

"A happy...torturous surprise."

Dr. Sachs, it seemed, was prepared for just such a personal confliction. "This is quite common," he declared with a nod. "What I can do, Binghams, is place the result in an envelope. Now, you don't have to look. But if you change your minds at any time..." He eyed the couple knowingly, awaiting their reply.

Finally they both nodded silently.

They finished with their ultrasound, highlighting various baby parts; oh look, some legs, some arms, but now both Jeff and Audrey found themselves quite preoccupied in trying to decipher tiny little baby bits of a certain undisclosed variety.

And after Audrey had cleared the goop from her belly, answer unclear, Dr. Sachs walked away. He scribbled down a secret. And he returned, handing the secret to Audrey as if a perfect treasure, tempting, far too tempting to resist, but a forbidden treasure indeed.

The envelope.

 

* * *

 

Adam's fingers were crossed on both hands; his toes were crossed. He would have crossed his eyes if it wouldn't have made him look like a complete doofus.

No matter. The look on Jen's face as she exited the bathroom, making the slow and arduous journey back towards the living room, was not the joyful look he had anticipated...he un-criss-crossed himself, leaning against the kitchen counter with a grumble.

"No go?"

"Another negative." Jen sat herself upon the living room sofa, tucking her knees to her chest. "It just isn't taking, maybe we're doing something wrong."

"How can we have sex wrong?" queried Adam, making his way into the living room. "I mean, it's sex, I'm pretty sure we've got this down, Jen. C'mon, we've barely started trying. You said yourself, it happens when it happens, right? Leave it up to fate?"

"Yeah, but fate's an annoying little bitch. Seriously, I didn't know how stressful this would be...and I still have the wedding to worry about."

"We're still doing that?" Mention of the wedding prompted Adam to make his way towards a kitchen cabinet. Carbs...snack cakes, donuts? He settled on Twinkies, shoving one halfway into his mouth. Ohhh, sugar eased the anxiety.

"I'm still doing it if you are."

Adam was still processing the Twinkie as he made his way into the living room, speaking past a full mouth. "Furbawha--?"

"What?"

Adam swallowed. "For sure this time?"

"I already sent out save-the-date cards."

"Yeah, for like the fourth time," Adam said with a sigh, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside Jen.

"Well, one of these times somebody's gonna call our bluff. Especially my mom...if we don't keep the date this time, it's curtains."

"Curtains?" Adam's face scrunched with a smile. "Who says that, 'curtains'? What, are we in an old gangster flick? 'It's curtains for you, see!'" He pounced on Jen, knocking her against the sofa, forcing out a laugh.

"Adam, stop!"

Naturally, he didn't stop. Instead, he found her lips, engaging her in a kiss, finding this the fastest way of easing down a set of frayed nerves.

Strewn across the sofa now together, Jen smiled a contented smile; Adam knew she was still far from content, but it was a start.

"Y'know," said Adam, "there might be something we can do to speed up this baby thing?"

Jen groaned beneath him. "Uggh, not right now, Adam, I'm so tired of sex!"

"That's...not what I meant." The couple shared an awkward, silent glance, then a nod of agreement. Well, yeah. Too much of a good thing...

He sighed as he sat up, pulling Jen along with him. "No, I mean...I know a place."

"Oh. Why does that sound terrifying as anything I've ever heard?"

"Just...trust me on this one."

 

* * *

 

The bell above the small shop's door jingled lightly as Jen followed Adam's lead slowly...very slowly, taking in the scene around her. Walls covered with colorful, fringed rugs, glass counters lined with crystals of various shapes and sizes as far as the eyes could see, and smoke drifting through the air of a strong scent she couldn't place her finger on. And music...a familiar sort of mellow, drifting music. Where had she heard this kind of music before?

"Now, this woman came highly recommended. Heard she works miracles when it comes to the baby making stuff."

"Recommended by who?" Jen walked a short distance towards a bookshelf. Titles on astrology, numerology, astral projection...alien encounters...

"Friend of my mom's."

Adam's mom. _That's_ where she'd heard the music, the whole time she'd stayed with them she'd blasted that music, she'd-- waaait a minute. Jen turned back towards Adam, voice growing increasingly accusatory. "Uh, Adam...why would a friend of your mom be recommending ways to get me pregnant?"

"Now, Jen--"

"I thought we weren't telling anyone outside the circle that we're trying, Adam. If the families know then we'll never hear the end of it. Then we start getting all kinds of unsolicited advice..." She eyed her surroundings with a suspicious eye. "And the questions start...'hey, you got a nugget in there yet?'"

"A nugget...?"

"I've fielded enough wedding and baby questions from our families to sink a boat as is, we don't need them involved, please tell me your family doesn't know."

Adam stared silently at Jen for some time, brain racing towards an explanation. Finally he smiled a crooked smile. "Hey, do you smell that? What is that, cinnamon?"

" _Adam..._ "

"Patchouli?"

"UGH, you told your mom?!"

"It...may...have...slipped."

"Adam!!"

Some of those crystals on the counter looked pretty sharp, perfect for gouging a delinquent husband right where it counted. Thankfully for the delinquent husband, Adam and Jen were confronted a moment later by a brightly dressed woman, hair in long dreadlocks, grinning peacefully, hands placed together as she bowed low before the couple.

"Namaste."

"Namaste," Adam replied, returning the bow. "Uh, I'm Adam, and this is my wife, Jennifer."

"Oh! I've heard all about the two of you and your plights."

Jen shot Adam an evil glare.

"I'm Moonflower, and this...!" She gave a grand wave of an arm. "Is my shop. Please, trust that we will have your reproductive chakras aligned in no time."

Jen let loose a very low groan, resisting the urge to run away. She smiled sweetly at the woman standing before her. "Uhm, thank you, but I just had my reproductive chakras aligned last week, so...again, thanks, but..."

"Oh, I sense you're very much aligned, you are indeed one with the universe, but _this_ one..." The woman placed her hands upon Adam's chest, inhaling deeply. She let out a very deep breath. "Ohhhh...you're tense. Sooo tense. Don't worry, I have just the thing." For a moment the woman's voice grew serious. "Remember, any and all pain is a natural part of the spiritual cleansing process."

"Wait, pain...? What...what, pain?"

Moonflower turned swiftly with a grin, humming to herself, a slight dance to her step as she waved the couple to follow her.

Jen and Adam turned to face one another before daring to walk the path the woman set before them. Adam's mood, so confident a short time ago, seemed suddenly displaced.

Jen smiled to herself as she grabbed his arm, guiding them both forward. "She came highly recommended."

 

* * *

 

Simran Patel had barely collapsed into the easy chair in her apartment with a contented sigh, having just arrived home from a long day at work, when she heard the familiar sound of the notification coming through on her computer...a video call.

Silently she begrudged the call, despite pulling herself back up and bounding towards the desk on light feet, accepting the request without a second thought, greeting the caller with a characteristic grin.

"Hello, Russell."

"Your brother's an idiot."

Notably unphased by the familiar complaint, she questioned in suit, "What has he done this time?"

"He..." Russell hesitated, which generally meant he feared Simran was apt to take Timmy's side in whatever the matter was at hand. He sank back against the living room sofa with an irritated grunt, and took what he deemed the safest approach. "Listen, can't you do something about him? Come on, do that Patel thing where you look at him for a long time until he feels really guilty, I keep trying to pin that one down, I can't do it."

"It's really not that simple with Timmy, you know how stubborn he--" There came the ring of a cell phone; she pulled it from her pocket. "Oh...oh, just a moment Russell, I have another call."

Russell shot forward in desperation. "No! No, Simran, wait, you've gotta do something about Tim--!"

But Simran had already disconnected from Russell, already having answered her phone with just a hint of agitation. "Hello, Timmy."

"Simran, he's an idiot."

She laughed a silent laugh. "What has Russell done now?"

"Must I bother clarifying?" He spoke as he walked the way towards his apartment, steps growing ever heavier in frustration. "I've already told you the man's an idiot. Of course you already knew, I don't know why I should bother anymore in starting a conversation this way."

"You do begin more than your fair share of conversations with 'Russell is an idiot'...

Her brother's defeated groan forced Simran's face to pang, the familial connection in her activating. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine. Everything's fine..."

"Everything's not fine. You forget who you're speaking to, you can't lie to me...not if you intend to get away with it. This isn't about Russell, what's going on?"

"No, it...it is." A heavy sigh, audible across the miles. "And it isn't. Do you ever get the feeling, Simran, that the world is laughing at you?"

Simran wished she could answer in the affirmative, to help ease Timmy's woes. Why must he always seem so troubled?

"You know, Timmy, sometimes I think perhaps you'd be better off if you'd learn to laugh along." There came a long silence; either irritation or contemplation, Simran wagered, hoping in favor of the latter.

"Yes, well. At any rate, I'd best be off."

Six of one, half dozen of the other. A standard response, cutting the call short when she'd bested him in some manner. Simran smiled with a light chuckle. "Fine enough. I've a date later on, I should get ready."

"A date?" Timmy's voice creaked lightly; the expected response from an over-protective brother. "With, uhm...with whom?"

"Oh, just a fellow...we've been out before."

"And you've neglected to tell me about it?"

"I don't tell you everything, Timmy."

Another long silence; stewing. He was surely stewing, and Simran smiled broadly at this fact.

"Yes...yes, well. Have...have a lovely evening, Simran."

"Thank you, Timmy."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he joked, attempting light humor past his discomfort.

"Oh, don't worry, brother dearest...I will."

"Wh-what? Simran, wha--"

She hung up before he could respond further, and she threw a hand over her mouth with giddy laughter.

 

* * *

 

Timmy placed his phone back into a pocket as he carried on walking the hall. He might have stopped to collect himself, to internally scold both spouse and sibling who so strained his last nerve, but a voice broke his concentrated anxieties.

"Heya, Timmy," came the friendly wave of the neighbor down the hall. Timmy gave a smile and a wave back to Jackie, a first-name acquaintance who had taken to occasionally chatting over groceries and mail and remarking each time that they really ought to have one another over for dinner some night and meet the nameless other-halfs. A faint recognition nagged at the men, but never quite clicked.

It was a welcome distraction today, as Timmy dreaded entering his apartment. He knew Russell had arrived home first, and he really wasn't looking forward to the conversation that was sure to follow. They generally avoided uncomfortable discussions these days, finding it easier to tiptoe. But not today. Timmy could sense it. And so as he opened the door with a heavy breath to find Russell laying on the sofa, the perfect picture of misery, he felt a strong desire to turn the other way.

"Hey."

Too late.

"Hello...long day? Yes, indeed, quite the same, no time to talk, so much to do, so lovely seeing you, darling, dinner in an hour?"

Russell hoisted himself magically from his place upon the sofa, following Timmy's beeline towards the hall. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Timmy's feet slowed as he thought, turning carefully back towards Russell. "Oh, uhm...shower?"

"You never shower before dinner," Russell countered suspiciously, arms folding across his chest. "Might have worked before...but it's been long enough now, I know your every move..." He slank his way towards Timmy, inch by inch, until the two of them were very close. Face to face.

Timmy let forth a nervous laugh through a smile. "Hello." There followed a forced kiss, tense upon lips which failed to return the favor. Only a blank stare. "Yes...yes, well...about that shower--"

Russell grabbed Timmy by an arm. "Your eye's twitching...little bead of sweat on the brow?" He ran a finger across Timmy's forehead...slowly, before leaning in, breath soft against an ear. "Why are you so nervous?"

"Not...not nervous," Timmy eked out breathlessly. "Just...tired, you know. Long day." As Russell's mouth pressed further into Timmy's ear, he flinched nervously. "My goodness, you're standing close to me."

"That bothers you?" With a slow, meticulous stroke of his tongue, Russell licked up the length of Timmy's ear.

It was then that Timmy pulled himself away, suppressing a yelp. "Okay! You've done it! We'll discuss it! Are you satisfied with yourself? The answer is still no, but are you quite satisfied?! My god, you're an animal!"

"Why won't you come back?!" Straight to the matter at hand, no time for beating around the bush. "You really hate me that much? I thought we were past all that, you needed space, I gave you space."

"It's far more complicated than that, there's more at stake..."

"Like what?"

"Like the entirety of our marriage, the sanctity of our relationship? We do _not_ work well together, Russell, have you really forgotten this fact so quickly, are you actually that deluded?"

"Working for me wasn't so bad!"

Timmy's jaw dropped with such force that Russell took a step away from him, but he said nothing further to try and back up his statement, for he knew the absurdity of the claim.

"Working for you...wasn't...so bad?" Timmy sputtered in disbelief. "I can't...I...what...?"

Russell hissed out through his teeth.

Timmy held up a finger. "My first day as your hire, you had me parading the streets chasing down poor, unsuspecting women."

Russell perked in memory. "Oh, yeah...hey, remember the one that pulled a knife on you and punched you in the--?"

"That was the second day."

"Still got her number. Man, she was a killer in the sack."

Timmy scowled as he held up a second finger. "You made me place prank calls pretending to be James Bond, Austin Powers, Harry-Freaking-Potter!"

Russell chuckled lightly. "Yeah, that was--"

"Not funny!"

Russell turned away with a sigh.

"Lest we forget the assorted ointments you had me apply to areas we both know perfectly well you could reach yourself!"

Russell whipped back towards Timmy with an accusatory point of a finger. "Hey, you don't complain about touching those areas anymore!"

"W-well...I...it isn't..." Timmy struggled a bit longer before lowering his voice. "You had me touch you in those places the week you hired me."

"And you didn't quit?!"

Timmy nodded; then, after a drawn-out sigh: "Is this another one of those things we were suggested to make note of, in retrospect?"

"For therapy?" Russell had placed firm fingers to his temple, rubbing deeply. "All I know is I like you touching 'em _now_."

"Fine...okay, might we just _please_ get back to what we were talking about?"

Russell looked back at Timmy, arms dropping to his sides. He stared with a raised brow. "What...what were we, uh...talking about?" He bit the corner of a lip, the slightest of growls developing in the back of his throat. "Damn, you know, you look really--"

"Oh, come on, Russell, seriously?!"

"Dude, I get turned on by gusts of wind, you were talking about touching me, it was--"

Timmy turned to walk away. "Forget it. My god, I can't even have a simple conversation with you, you're absolutely impossible."

"Does this mean touching me in those places is out of the question, or...?"

Russell heard the slam of the bedroom door and made his way back to the sofa, plunking down with a laugh. "He'll change his mind."

No more than a minute later Timmy emerged, approaching Russell with as much annoyance as he could muster. "I'm extremely put out with you, I hope you know that."

"Uh-huh," spoke Russell flatly, knowingly.

Timmy grumbled, tapping a foot in annoyance. He folded his arms, looking away in consideration, as if he had anything to consider. Then, without bothering to look back at Russell, he spoke as he walked back away to continue stewing. "Give me an hour to stop being angry."

"I like angry sex," Russell called after him.

"I'll still be a little angry!" Timmy called before slamming the door again.

Russell collapsed into laughter upon the sofa.

 

* * *

 

Standing in the bathroom, Adam examined the jar he held in his hand. The label read "Professor Mystic's Healing Reproductive Serum"...slowly, very slowly, he unscrewed the lid. The whiff he got of the stuff held within churned his stomach, his face scrunching in a disgusted manner.

"Ah, _god_..." He inserted a finger very slowly into the green gloop, pulling back a dollop, finding it somehow both slimy and grainy. The smell was even worse upon retrieval, upon daring to lift the finger towards his nostrils.

And cautiously, with great hesitation...he dragged the finger against his face, drawing a slow line down his cheek. He looked to himself in the mirror with a slow breath out.

"Makin' a baby," he assured himself. "I can do this."

A short time later, Adam entered the bedroom, finding Jen sitting casually in bed with a book. She looked to him, his face coated a bright green, and placed a hand upon her mouth with a gag.

"Oh my god, you smell like crap!"

"Makin' a baby," Adam repeated. "A baby..." He kept repeating the words ever softer, trying to allow the thought to overpower the smell which dared to make him rush back towards the bathroom for a new reason. _Why did I have to eat so much dinner?_ , he thought, his stomach performing a triple back flip.

"Uh, Adam...you know that stuff isn't supposed to go on your face, right?"

"It's...it's not? Then where--"

Jen pointed a finger, aiming it slowly down. Adam's eyes followed a trail down his torso, all the way down towards...

"Ah, no!"

"Yeah. Better slather up down there," Jen said, holding back a laugh.

Adam turned with a frustrated roar. "Ohhh!"

As he vanished back out the door Jen was quick to reassure him, a smug grin overtaking her, "She came highly recommended!"

 

* * *

 

"Well, that's not fair," said Audrey. "I can't even reach the top shelf of the closet."

"Well, if we're not gonna open the envelope anyway, then why is that a problem?"

The couple both stood together for some time in silent introspection, staring into their bedroom closet. Staring at a lonely box upon the shelf that held within it an envelope; within that envelope, a mystery. Boy or girl? They stood, feeling its presence; sensing the words written on the paper. Knowing that the answer lied within. _Needing it._

"I'll move it lower," Jeff conceded, snatching the box and placing it on a center shelf.

"But we're definitely not going to look at it," Audrey reassured.

"Nah, of course not."

"But maybe....." Audrey's words trailed off as she turned to Jeff, tapping her chin in thought.

"Knew you'd try and weasel your way into that box."

"No, no...just hear me out. What if we, say...sweetened the pot?"

Jeff was intrigued. "Go on."

"Hundred bucks says you'll open it before I will."

Jeff let off one prideful, arrogant laugh. "You're on. I know how that brain of yours works, you can't resist the mystery. Birthdays, Christmas...no secret's safe around you. You...the re-taper of presents."

"I do not--!"

"I'm onto you, sister."

So, there it was. The stare-down. Both Jeff and Audrey, unflinching, illuminated by the light of the closet in the still of the bedroom on this...the night of reckoning.

Oh, yeah. Game on.

"But," said Jeff with a point towards the box, "no telling anybody that we have this thing. That'll just break us." He smiled sly with a raise of a brow. "And you've got a big mouth." He reached into the closet, pulling off the light, and started his way towards the bed. A victory walk. "What am I gonna buy with a hundred dollars?"

"You're not gonna win."

"That's just what a loser would say."

 

* * *

 

Another day. Another day of what was becoming an ordinary grind, repetitive, mindless, but satisfying on some basal level. Timmy watched as the letters blurred against the screen, his mind drifting to other places, and then shook his head clear, annoyed at himself for growing so consistently distracted.

What was happening? He was better than this. _Deep breath and soldier on, boy._

"Timir?"

"Mr. Reynolds." Timmy jumped from his desk with an amenable smile, hands folded neatly behind his back. "I've placed your messages on your desk and I've nearly finished with--"

"Actually, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you, Timir. Say...you prefer Timmy?"

Taken aback, it took a moment for Timmy to adjust to hearing his more casual moniker from his newest boss. His hands gently unfurled, returning to his sides, his smile now a touch more genuine in nature. "Yes...yes, sir, I would generally go by Timmy. In my personal life."

"Your name's been floating around these days, little birds talk. You worked down Dunbar way for a number of years. The whole time under one Russell Dunbar, I've heard, now that takes some guts..."

"...Yes, sir."

"It's a wonder you never got anywhere, your education is very impressive."

"Mm...yes, well..." Timmy struggled for some kind of eloquent explanation. There was, of course, no such thing, and so he left it at that.

"Listen, Timmy, when Charles transferred you over to me it was always with the stipulation that you were an ace in the pocket. Well, it's crunch time, it's time to play the card. We just had a man drop out on this big project, it'll be long hours, probably a weekend or two...but could mean permanent advancement if you play _your_ cards right. You want out from behind that desk?"

Timmy, rendered speechless, could not bring himself to formulate a response.

Mr. Reynolds could not resist allowing a slight smirk to overtake his face. "Worried about the missus? Yeah, those long hours really do a number at first, but hey, it's all worth it in the end."

"Oh...oh, I--"

"Or the mister, huh? Yeah, I hear Dunbar's the possessive type."

Timmy sputtered a bit; he hadn't told anybody the more intricate details of his personal life. It appeared the secret wasn't well kept, at all.

The man laughed lightly. "Little birds talk." As he walked away he spoke a casual, "Say yes, Timmy."

"Uhm...yes...yes! Thank you, sir. Thank you ever so much! I assure you, you won't regret it!"

"I know I won't."

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Kevin, is Russell around?"

Kevin took several large steps away from Adam, back hitting Russell's door, dropping a stack of paperwork in the process. "Oh, my god!"

"What?" Adam rose a hand carefully towards a cheek. "Oh...oh, yeah, that." He flinched slightly, having risked touching the bright red heat of the swollen splotches covering the whole of his face. Everywhere...it was everywhere.

"Mr. Rhodes, what happened?? Are you okay, should you even be at work?" Kevin moved a little further away. "I mean, your face is...it's so..."

"Had a little accident with, uh..." Adam watched as Kevin inched ever further away. "Hey, calm down, it's not contagious. It's an allergic reaction, or something." He tried very carefully to resist the raging urge to scratch the ever reddening rash. It was getting worse.

And not just on his face.

"Mr. Dunbar's in...in his office." Despite Adam's assurance that he would not be transferring a deadly virus to anyone, Kevin made a quick retreat to his desk, leaving his papers on the floor.

Adam thought well enough to pick them up before entering the office. "Hey, Russell?"

"Hey, what happened to knocki-- Oh, my god, dude, what the hell happened to your face?!"

Adam smiled with a light chuckle. "I know, pretty bad, right?"

Russell stood, walking to Adam with dramatic hand gestures. "Why are you so _happy_ about it? Why the heck are you even here, you should be at the hospital or something! You weren't even here yesterday and you come in today looking like Freddy Krueger?!" He paused thoughtfully, suddenly sidetracked from the horror of Adam's appearance. "Hey, wait a minute, why _weren't_ you here yesterday?"

"I talked to you about that...I told you I was gonna take a personal day, you said it was fine...don't you ever pay attention, do you even hear yourself talk?"

"Of course I-- Wait, a personal day? You can do that?"

"Russell, you do nothing _but_ take personal days, like, every other day you walk outta here, 'hey, blah-blah sexy woman, I'm taking a personal day'...well, okay, no women anymore...huh. What do you even do now, like, go get ice cream or something? I could go for ice cream right now. You wanna go get ice cream?"

"Yeah, I can do that, you can't! What do you need personal days for?"

Adam made his way towards Russell's sofa, collapsing with a solid thud. He threw down the papers he was holding and placed his hands to his face, forgetting his dilemma momentarily before recoiling in pain. "Grah!!"

Russell's voice dropped in concern. "Dude, seriously, do we need to call somebody, or...?"

"I'm so stressed out."

"That's a stress reaction? Because that's the weirdest thing I've ever seen, I mean, seriously, I think...I think your face is throbbing."

"It's not just my face."

"Well, where...?"

Adam glared silently at Russell until it clicked; Russell's eyes widened. "Holy crap, the rod?! Your rod looks like that?!"

"You wanna see?"

"NO! No, I don't wanna--! What the hell happened?!"

"Jen and I went to this shop yesterday and we bought some stuff..."

Russell began walking a slow path towards Adam, head tilting curiously. "Dude, whatever your kink is...I mean, I like it rough, but this is...this is just ridiculous." He came up very close to Adam, hand reaching slowly towards the red of his face...voice lowering to a near-whisper. "Does it hurt?"

"It's not a sex thing!" Adam shoved Russell's hand away. "Well, I mean...it's sort of a sex thing. It was supposed to boost my reproductive something...something, I don't know, it did _this_ , though. Anyway, that's why I came in here." Adam took quickly to his feet and Russell shot back.

"For a sex thing?! How many times do we have to go over this! _I...like...you...as...a...friend._ "

Adam threw a hand in the air. "Okay, seriously, you have selective-sex-hearing. I did say a few words between 'sex thing' and...okay, listen. I know the building has a no smoking policy, but can I burn sage in the office?"

"Burn what?"

"Sage. Moonflower told us to burn sage in any area we frequent, to clear the space of negative energies? She says, uh...if we eliminate the negative energy around us, it will help to eliminate the negative energy in our reproductive organs."

There came no response from Russell; merely a blank stare.

"Russell?"

"Seriously, _that's_ why you came in here?!"

"I take that as a no?"

"Get out of my office, geez!"

Adam h'rumphed his way towards the door. "You know, it wouldn't be that hard to find a new best friend. Lots of people like me, I am a _hot_ commodity, y'know that?"

"...And if you're getting it, bring me back some ice cream!"

 

* * *

 

"So, guess what we did yesterday?" Audrey slid an ultrasound photo across Jen's counter; what followed was a squeal of excitement.

"It looks like a baby!"

"Well, that's because...it's a baby!" Audrey confirmed excitedly. "Yeah, the doctor said everything's going great."

"A little brother or sister!" Jen tickled Shea's face where she rested in her mother's arms, eliciting a toothless smile. "So..." She looked to Audrey in anticipation. "Do you know? You know now, right?"

Audrey's excitement waned slowly down. "Mm...we...don't know."

"You mean the doctor didn't tell you?"

Audrey pulled back the ultrasound image, examining lovingly the tiny features for the millionth time, heart bursting no less than it had done upon all other examinations. And she looked back to Jen with great hesitation, thinking, thinking...

"If I tell you something, you have to swear not to tell another living soul."

Jen's smile was that of a sneak and a gossip. "Oooh...that sounds good."

"You swear?"

"Yes, of course!"

"The doctor...wrote down the sex of the baby in an envelope. We're not looking."

Jen's smile eased a bit, disappointed at the lack of intrigue in Audrey's great secret. "Oh. Well, why not? I mean, how long can that last, don't you wanna know? Last time you were all over clothes shopping, toys, accessories..."

"I can... _accessorize_ the baby after it's born, and besides, if it's another girl, I already have baby girl stuff coming out my ears, so..."

"You're really gonna turn down an excuse to shop?"

Audrey held herself back from delivering the response Jen desired. "I promised Jeff. We made...a bet."

"A bet? You made a bet?"

"If I open the envelope first I'm out a hundred bucks, and that's a hundred bucks worth of baby _accessories_ , or better yet, mommy accessories, so just...patience. We've waited this long, what's a few more months?"

Jen's smile returned. "So what you're saying is, we have to make sure Jeff cracks first?"

And there came the most devious of smiles exchanged between the women, followed by a slow laugh that built into near maniacal giggling. Oh, yes...yes, they'd get him to crack. They certainly would.

 

* * *

 

Jeff had been looking at Adam, who stood in the entrance to his apartment, for a solid half minute. Wordless, attempting to process just what he was looking at. Finally Jeff looked down with a laugh, making his way inside...no explanation required. This was Adam they were talking about.

"See, I bought this stuff, it was supposed to make me super potent..."

"Told you she'd start makin' you do the weird stuff, buddy."

"It was my idea, Jen told me not to do it."

Jeff turned back around, lifting a finger as though prepared to speak...and then shook his head, rescinding on the offer.

"Hey, Audrey said I could come over and smudge the apartment to help purify the energy of your space."

"She said you could do _what_?"

"Burn sage. Since Jen and I are over here so often, Moonflower just thought--"

"The hell is a Moonflower?"

"It's not a what, it's a who."

Once again, Jeff lifted a finger, preparing to speak...then thought better of it, instead rubbing his temple with a gentle hiss. "Audrey told you to come over here, seriously?"

"Well, yeah."

"Wonder what I did to piss her off. Do your little thing, I don't...I don't care. If she okay'd it for some reason and I say no, I'll never hear the end of it..."

"Hey, thanks, man. Y'know, with the way Russell's been acting lately, your chances of bumping up to BFF status are looking pretty good right about now." Adam passed by Jeff with a brotherly pat upon the back.

"My greatest desire in life."

As Adam went about his business, a knock happened upon the door. Jeff groaned internally as he made his way back towards it, not at all in the mood for company. He glanced back at Adam; welt-faced, nonsensically-blissful Adam, who wove smoke around his living room with a soft whistle. Yeah...he was all company'd out.

But as he opened the door, his eyes widened in recognition of the new arrival. "Whoa! Hey, you!"

"Jeffrey, my man!"

"Brad!"

"Hey, bring it in!" The men met in a friendly handshake and near-hug.

"Damn it, it's been forever, where the hell--"

"I know, I know, where've I been keepin' myself, right? It's true, I sort of went AWOL, but--"

Adam yelled a friendly greeting from across the room. "Whoa, is that Brad?? Hey, man, long time no see!"

Brad lost all train of thought as he examined Adam. "Hey, uh...Jeff? Do you always have diseased men performing rituals in your living room, these days? Is this a new thing, or...?"

Adam approached Brad with a laugh. "Dude, it's me. Adam Rhodes?"

Brad offered a friendly hand, patting Adam against an arm. "Yeah, I'm just messing with ya, but uhm...seriously, that...." He pointed to all of Adam's face. "That looks like a personal problem."

"Oh, yeah...yeah, well, that's a long story." Adam wove a still-smoking bundle of sage near Jeff's face. "But Jeff, I think we're good to go here. You want me to leave you a few smudge sticks, or...?"

"Nah, I think we're all stocked up there, buddy."

"Well, just let me know, I bought tons of these things. Brad?"

Brad watched a stream of smoke emerge slowly from the sage before focusing back on Adam. "Seriously, we're not talking about the face?"

"So, no on the sage?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Adam offered a fond farewell, Brad ensuring he'd not be making a stranger of himself here on out; as soon as the door had closed, Jeff could see the questions form on Brad's lips.

"Not worth it. So hey, seriously, where've you been, why are you here now?"

"It's really not that interesting. Business takes you one place, business brings you back. Now don't be too mad when I tell ya we've been back in town awhile. My schedule's been a rock solid mess, but I finally had the time to drop by, so...hey, here I am!"

"Well, it's great to see you, man, you want a beer or something? But only if you promise not to pull another disappearing act."

"Yeah, I think that's a reasonable arrangement," Brad agreed with a chuckle, following Jeff's trail to the kitchen. He was swiftly handed a beer and the men clinked bottles.

After a swallow Jeff spoke in realization. "Mm! You have that husband of yours call my wife, for hell's sake, she's missed that guy like crazy. She keeps trying to sponge off Jen's time with Timmy."

"Come again?"

At this Jeff heard his door open and close uneventfully. "Hey! Audrey's gonna be thrilled to see you." He exited the kitchen to lay eyes not upon his wife. She had been replaced by a Polly Pocket in leather and denim who had immediately taken to walking around as if he owned the joint.

Jeff was not at all pleased by the intrusion. "When did you stop knocking?"

Russell carried on looking over various items in the Binghams' apartment, picking up and looking over decorative knick-knacks with judgmental sneers. Yugh, terrible taste. "Timmy's over yakking it with the gal pal or something, what am I supposed to do, hang out with those losers?"

"Didn't really answer--"

Ignoring Jeff entirely, Russell pointed a finger quite suddenly. "Oh, my god, it's that guy we used to know!"

Brad let off a sigh and spoke a tad dismissively. "Nice to see you, too, Russell."

"Hey, uh...Marcus, right?"

"Yeah," said Brad. "Not even close."

Jeff carried on with introductions, despite the fact that his two guests clearly knew one another. "Russell, this is Brad. Who you know. Brad, this is Russell. He's a moron."

"Which I know." He dismissed the new arrival, returning to Jeff. "Listen, before something else crazy walks through that door, we're having a party in a couple days. I know it's short notice, but this is a verbal invite, so--"

"Totally, we'll be there." Not Jeff. Russell had answered quite nonchalantly, still fingering Jeff and Audrey's items as he walked the length of their apartment.

Brad turned back towards Russell, taking several paces his direction. "You're still banned from any and all parties thrown by me, little man, we established this years ago."

"What? When was this?!"

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't remember. About what, four, five years ago, already? You had that little heel dog of yours help you weasel your way in so you could hit up all my guest's lady friends, mm-mm, no sir, ain't happenin'. Jerry Rice still won't return my calls."

"Oh...oh, my god, that thing?!" Russell scoffed, waving Brad down with a hand. "That was like a million years ago. Come on, we went over that, I was there with my boyfriend!"

Brad shook his head with an indignant laugh. "Mm. Tell you what, that was a real good try then, great try now, but--"

From behind them drifted out Jeff's patent monotone: "He married him."

Brad turned to Jeff, raising a brow. "Uhh...say what?"

"Going out on a limb here, I mean, I'm pretty blurry on the details of that party, if it's the same one I'm thinkin' of, yeah, that...was a thing, but, uh...the fake boyfriend? Safe to assume we're talking about the little man servant?"

"Well-mannered, posh guy, followed this one around on a leash?"

"Yeah. Real husband now."

Brad turned back towards Russell with a thoughtful nod. "Huh. Well, okay."

Russell waited for more, and upon Brad saying nothing else, huffed softly, his voice and demeanor mellowing a touch, leading Brad to reflect in kind. "What, uh, that's it? Nothing, that's all you've got?"

"Well, what'd you want?"

"I dunno. Usually when people find out, there's a bunch of questions, or..."

"Listen, Russell, I'm a gay man. I've been a gay man for a long time, what do you want, a club jacket? A cake, says 'congratulations, you married a man'? Nah, it's cool. Congrats on the marriage, I mean, that's a big step, never saw you as the settling down type, how long now?"

"Like, six months."

"Oh, wow, newlyweds, man, excellent. Long engagement?"

"We sort of, uh, skipped that part."

"Oh, like a Vegas thing?"

"Like a green card thing."

Jeff chimed in again: "The more you go down this rabbit hole, the stranger it gets." He waited for Brad to look back his way and shot him a smile. "He hasn't even gotten to the tracking chip, yet."

Brad had barely taken the time to process the words when the door to Jeff's apartment opened again.

Jeff grumbled in irritation. What was this, a clown car, they just keep coming? And _why does nobody knock anymore?!_

"Audrey said to let myself in," Timmy announced. "I've just come to fetch this one, I'm sure he's outstayed his welcome."

"You really are the smart one," said Jeff. "Brad, speak of the devil's henchman, you remember Timmy."

"Yeah, of course." Brad did a double-take now, as if something had suddenly clicked in his brain. "Wait a second, hold up...no way...you're hallway Timmy!"

Timmy tried to work out the declaration, but to no avail. "Uhm...I have been known to occupy hallways in my time..."

"Jackie keeps going on and on about some adorable British guy down the hall named Timmy and how we really outta have him and the hubby over for dinner. That wouldn't be you guys?"

Timmy gasped in realization. "Hallway Jackie!"

"Hallway Timmy! Well, that explains a lot. He kept saying he knew you from somewhere, I never would have put two and two together. You married this fool?"

"Regrettably, yes."

Russell had no time to be offended. "So we're in?"

Brad looked from Russell to Timmy and back again. "You two don't make a lick of sense, you know that, right?"

Russell and Timmy voiced no complaints, nodding in simple agreement of the obvious.

"Yeah," said Brad with a shrug. "Jackie likes this one, I guess that means you're both in."

"What...exactly are we in?" questioned Timmy.

"Party, my place, Halloween night. You can keep him in line, right? A lot of important people coming. A lot of important people in funny costumes, don't need any trouble."

Jeff's entry back into the conversation took place in the form of a groan. "Seriously, costumes? Mandatory?"

"Mandatory on the costumes." Brad made his way back to Jeff, supplying a smack on the chest with the back of a hand. "C'mon, it'll be fun! You know how to have a good time, huh?"

Russell was quick to offer up a touch of reassurance. "Pft, we can find you a costume easy!"

Timmy laid a hand upon Russell's shoulder. "Don't..."

"Now, let's think. Mighty Joe Young? Little more obscure on the cinematic monkey front, but eh, it works..."

Jeff's eyes were narrowing as he sucked his teeth; not yet. Give it a minute.

"Ooh, or Magilla Gorilla, that's always a fun option. Or you could always go with your standard Kong, now he was KING of the apes."

"GET OUT!" roared Jeff, a mighty roar, a roar fit for an ape king if Russell had ever heard one.

"Pft, fine," spoke Russell most casually, brushing down his arms. "I can see when I'm not welcome. Brad, you said Halloween night? Yeah, we'll be there." He turned to walk, but paused, turning back with a thoughtful tap against a cheek. "Ohhh. Yikes. A party on a work night?"

Jeff almost forgot his rage, joining Timmy in a curious head tilt Russell's direction.

Russell made an easy time of ignoring this, busy clicking his tongue several times in careful consideration. "Well, I'll be cutting out of work early anyway..."

The men nodded him away. Yes, that was more like it.

"Gotta get ready for the trick-or-treaters, they are just _precious_." He nudged Timmy lightly in a shoulder. "Hey, baby, we should really start thinking about expanding...little Trussell sprouts running around, causing all kinds of shenanigans?"

Brad rose a brow Timmy's direction, attempting to decipher the complexities of the man beside him; Timmy shook his head, conveying there existed no reasonable explanation.

"But sure," Russell continued without a hitch. "After the tots clear out we'll hit up your little, uh...shindig. Could be fun. Timmy?" Russell turned uneventfully away, walking as far as the door. When Timmy failed to follow heel, he snapped his fingers. "Timmy!" And he walked out the door, expecting his presence shortly.

Timmy sighed a bit and popped his lips, shoving his glasses up his face. He smiled Brad's direction. "I'm so sorry, I really ought not to take him out in public, I'm afraid he's not housebroken yet." He turned, speaking over his shoulder as he walked: "Dinner at yours and Jackie's some night, yes?"

"So long as he doesn't pee on the carpet."

"We'll do our best."

 

* * *

 

In the middle of the night, Jen was awoken by the sounds of a shriek. It started slow, a mild yelp from the far back of a throat, and built slowly throughout the room. A living alarm clock.

"Honey...honey?! ADAM!!"

"Graaahhh!!"

"Adam, what's wrong?!"

"Call 911, Jen, call 911!" Adam shot up, dancing upon the bed with the rhythm of a mad man. "It burns, Jen, oh, my god!!"

"What burns?! Oh, my god, your--"

"YES!!"

By the time Jen had dialed 911 and began explaining the situation to the operator, Adam had had enough. He grabbed the phone from her, frantic.

"Please just send someone as fast as you can!"

"Sir," the operator spoke in a calm, rehearsed fashion. "Please state the nature of your emergency?"

"MY PENIS IS ON FIRE!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to note that my significant other fed me the phrase "Trussell sprouts" and I now dub myself, as a shipper of these two, a Trussell Sprout, and am going to run around causing all kinds of shenanigans.


	3. Trick or Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I'm here. And I promise, this fic is NOT on the chopping block. x
> 
> (It's been long enough that I feel the need to recap: There's some tension between the boys...Russell's been nagging Timmy to come back to the company, but Timmy's just landed a big project at his new job. Jeff and Audrey had made a bet as to who would break down and open an envelope containing the sex reveal of their baby. Trying to up his potency, Adam used some salve that made him break out in sensitive areas. PS. I felt a bit written into a corner with some of this chapter, but I really hope y'all are still with me. Love to anybody still here. <3)
> 
> I'm going to switch the rating to E...this won't reflect in the story quite yet, but I know what's coming, so better safe than sorry. If you've read this far, you get the gist.

Russell pressed the numbers on the vending machine and watched the coil spin, spin, spin...and stop, bag of chips hanging by a corner, latched securely to a flimsy piece of metal. Curses.

He roared, banging his head against the machine; then, a soft thud. Ah...there we go. As he retrieved his scant nourishment, he grumbled to his familiar.

"Tell me again why I'm in the hospital at three in the morning for Adam's dick?"

Timmy smiled apologetically at the nurse passing by who had risen a brow at Russell's remark before explaining for the dozenth time, as if speaking to a profane, middle-aged child.

"Jennifer called. She sounded quite alarmed, I came for support."

" _You_ came for support, why am I here?"

"Were it ever one of us in an emergency situation, don't you think the Rhodes or the Binghams would be the first to stand by our side?"

"Don't see Jeff out here."

"Well, the Binghams have a young child. It is the middle of the night, after all."

"The old baby excuse, see, this is when one of those things would come in handy, you sure you wanna veto that whole idea?"

"And it isn't precisely a life or death situation," Timmy carried on as though Russell hadn't interjected at all.

"Yeah, no kidding? It's the middle of the night and we're here because _Adam's junk hurt_!" Russell led Timmy back towards the waiting area, muttering words as he went.

"What was that?"

As the men sat across from one another, Russell popped open his chips, eating the first one with a hint of aggression. "We shouldn't be here, why do you have to be so...obsessively _nice_? You don't have to jump whenever somebody calls."

"Perhaps I grew accustomed to jumping on command, perhaps I'm reminiscing."

"What's that supposed to--" But Russell got the picture. He soothed his irritation with another chip and quickly diverted, not in the mood for this particular, oft familiar strain of conflict. "And you just _have_ to drag me to a hospital. I hate hospitals, man."

"Why do you hate hospitals?"

"They're just eeky, I mean old people dying everywhere, and now I know they store all the hot nurses in some secret wing or something...bad stuff always happens to me in hospitals, nothing good ever happens to me in hospitals."

The silent stare. Timmy leaned towards Russell slowly, very slowly, eyes narrowing, burning.

"What?"

He carried on saying absolutely nothing, counting on the few cells in Russell's brain to do their designated job.

"I hate when you do that, why are you--! O-oh...well...yeah." Russell's voice grew progressively softer as Timmy's visual scolding clicked. "Yeah, I mean, the whole, uh, marrying each other thing. That was...that was pretty good." He thrust out a hand. "Chip?"

Timmy sighed defeatedly, declining the offer.

The men found themselves shortly thereafter in the company of Jen, who slumped into the chair beside Timmy. "Uggggh."

"Chip?" offered Russell, and she did not decline. In fact, she leaned forward, snatching the entire bag.

"Hey!"

As she gorged herself on soothing salted grease, she spoke. "Do you ever feel like the whole world's just laughing at you?"

"Constantly." Both Timmy and Russell had answered; for a moment the men looked to one another, taken aback at the mutual response. They silently regarded the implication, apologetically, regretfully, but before they could exchange further explanation, Jen spoke again.

"Adam had a serious allergic reaction to something in that serum."

"Huh. No kidding?" quipped Russell. "Coulda fooled me, didn't notice a thing."

"His face is already looking a little better, but his...yeah, they're saying it might be a couple months before we can even have sex again."

"Well," said Timmy, "that certainly puts a damper on your plans for offspring."

"And the world laughs," said Jen, popping another chip.

"Y'know," said Russell, "I paid for those chips. Paid for a cab to get here, paid for the chips--"

Jen stood, throwing the bag towards Russell before storming away.

"Oh, c'mon." He looked in the bag with a sour expression. "It's mostly crumbs now."

Timmy set back to glaring. "Behave, Russell." His voice and his demeanor were decidedly authoritarian in tone.

Russell grew warm, muscles tightening in irritation. Not here, not now; but he was suddenly having none of this. He forced a laugh to clear his head. _Ignore it._

"Your behavior is entirely out of line, do we really need to have this conversation right now?"

That did it. "Knock it off, Tim."

Timmy's face softened ever so slightly. "What did you just--?"

"You're not the parent. I'm not the kid. _Lay off it._ "

Timmy, unaccustomed to such a decree, pulled back entirely from his reprimanding glare and shrank lightly in his seat. And for some time, there fell a silence between the men.

Until at last, Timmy stood from his seat. He walked the short distance to Russell, taking the seat beside him, and spoke softly, a conversation in confidence, as confident as one might manage in the middle of a hospital.

"I'm sorry, Russell."

"Yeah, uh...me. Too."

"I don't know why we ought to be bickering. It's really Jennifer we owe the apology--"

"No, I meant...the other day. The last few weeks, the whole...calling at work thing. Bugging you about stuff, whatever."

"Oh...oh, yes..."

"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you pissed off or something, maybe _I'm_ reminiscing..." Russell attempted a laugh. "Hey, led to some good sex..."

Timmy leaned forward, seeking Russell's face, something having clicked quite suddenly. "You're upset about all this...my returning to work, my being--"

"It's late, I'm _tired_..."

"The new position I'm about to take on, is that it? It's upset you, somehow."

Russell had taken to shaking a leg gently, an attempt to calm frayed nerves. He didn't want to talk about it; the intensity of Timmy staring at him so intently, as though he'd cracked the code, did little to help matters. "I told you, it's cool, okay? I mean, sure, maybe it shoulda been _me_ giving you that promotion, guess I missed the ball on that one." A facetious chuckle. "Well, this has all been kind of a promotion, huh?"

"You're unhappy."

"No." More silence. This really wasn't the place for a heart-to-heart; Russell could hear the faint sounds of hospital life, but his eyes rested now uncomfortably against his own lap, seeking to ignore his surroundings save for the man to his side.

"Russell?"

"Maybe I miss you."

Timmy struggled to understand the statement, to formulate a response. He desired desperately to have the right answer for Russell, the one that would make everything okay, but he knew he didn't. And so he stood. He faced his husband. His hand graced the back of Russell's neck, resting there a few moments before pulling up along the side of his face, prompting Russell to look up towards him.

The men connected then, briefly, eyes meeting in a soft 'I love you' and lips exchanging meager smiles, before Timmy turned all at once, walking away.

And Russell's smile fell.

163 days. How'd they managed that?

 

* * *

 

"...Jennifer?" Timmy caught up to Jen where she had settled back in front of the vending machines.

"Would you like to come by some chips honestly?" he offered, hand seeking money in the depths of a pocket.

She gave him a crooked smile. "I can pay for my own empty calories. Why are you here, Timmy?"

"Friends are there for one another."

"Yeah, well, Russell's pissed."

"Not your fault."

Jen glared into Timmy until he broke, leaning against the vending machine with a sigh. "We're just experiencing some...it's nothing. Are you all right? They'll be releasing Adam soon?"

"Gonna be here awhile. He applied that stuff _liberally_ , the doctor was pretty impressed he made it this long before coming in. Adam's kinda stoked his face'll still be scarred up Halloween night."

"Of course he is."

"Saves on makeup."

Timmy tapped the air in recollection. "He does seem quite taken with Halloween festivities. I recall he always came to work in costume. One year in full drag..."

"He's not an attractive woman."

"Well now, I thought he pulled off the fishnets rather nicely. Then, there was the year of the werewolf."

"Yeah, no, he just stopped shaving."

"Oh...bit of a mistake, eh? Might have looked better as a woman?"

At last Jen awarded Timmy a genuine smile. "Now c'mon, he's pretty rugged. He'd be flattered you think he's a good looking woman, though, I'll be sure and let him know."

"Thank you," replied Timmy with a grin.

Jen observed the rows of colorful snacks calling her name behind a pane of glass, allowing her eyes to gloss over. She slowly contemplated her life, the events that must have led her to be standing in the middle of the night in a hospital while her husband lay in bed with his penis in a sling. She wept internally, and turned slowly to the man beside her. Her friend, dressed always so neatly, offering always such a gentle smile, who adjusted his glasses and nodded her way in such a delicate, affable manner.

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Yes, Jennifer?"

"I think I'm having an existential crisis."

 

* * *

 

When Russell drug himself into work come 8 AM, several things struck his assistant Kevin as unusual about the situation. First and foremost, Mr. Dunbar never arrived to the office so early. Secondly, he looked downright awful, worse than usual, and Kevin felt a touch of concern growing as he watched the man stumble gracelessly into his office, failing to fully close the door behind him.

On his first day and each day since, Kevin had taken note of his boss's general lack of social graces, but it seemed to him that this recent bout of particularly poor showmanship was surely the result of something more than a decidedly spoiled personality.

The man was slipping, somehow...and, somehow, the kid out front was starting to take heart.

Kevin walked now towards Russell's door, shoving it open lightly with a cautious inquiry. "Uhm, Mr. Dunbar?"

Russell had collapsed upon his sofa, laying curled, barely able to process the voice.

"Mr. Dunbar...sir, is everything okay? Do you need anything, maybe a cup of coffee, or..."

Upon the realization that he wasn't alone, Russell shot up, brushing himself off with a cough. "Damn, you don't knock anymore, what...what is this, what do you want?"

"I'm sorry, I just...I didn't mean to intrude, I..." Kevin looked Russell over, perhaps a touch too slowly.

"What, are you checking me out? I'm taken, pal, you know this, eyes off the prize."

"You don't look so good today, sir. Even if I _was_ interested." A certain snark in the voice, but a face quite stoic, hard to read, a typical Kevin trait.

Russell rose a brow slightly. He'd made a foolish game of attempting to perfect his 'gaydar' in recent days, despite Timmy's frequent scoldings, and was still busy analyzing Kevin when he found hands fall upon him.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!"

"Don't flatter yourself." Kevin set about tugging at Russell's clothing in inspection. "We should fix your shirt, it isn't even tucked in, and you missed a button...did your husband not notice, did he not take a crack at this?"

"Okay, hands off the merchandise." Russell shoved at arms, forcing Kevin away. "The last assistant I had fondle me so much ended up...well. Fondling me. A lot. We're not that chummy, back it up, huh?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dunbar. Listen, I'm just...trying to get this right. Timmy asked me to make sure--"

"You work for my husband? Timmy your boss, now?"

"No, I...no. No, of course not. I'll just...yeah, I'll...you want that coffee?" And Kevin turned to walk away. He was surprised to hear a voice a moment later, chatting quite casually.

"So, Adam's in the hospital."

Kevin turned back around, carrying on the conversation easily. "Really?"

"Allergic reaction, I was up half the night playing nursemaid in the hospital, he wanted me there for some reason. Couple dozen games of hangman, it was brutal. Does 'syphilis' have one 'L' or two?"

"So, the face thing...?"

"Wasn't just his face. He put the stuff on his..." Russell whistled, indicating a southernly portion of anatomy...and he smiled, pleased at the look of abject terror covering Kevin's face. "Nah, he's all right, but uh...he's out of commish, gonna be pretty quiet around here for a few days. Hate how quiet it gets, sometimes."

Russell walked the length of the room, itching fingers seeking something. He settled on the nameplate atop his desk.

He leaned against the desk, holding the item up for Kevin. "Yeah, this guy, 'Russell T. Dunbar'...people don't seem to like this guy very much."

"Ohhh," Kevin aimed to soothe his boss's bruised ego with a comforting lie. "That's...not...true." Harder than he'd anticipated.

"So what does he do?" Russell carried on, lost in his thoughts. "He brings in a buddy. Adam Rhodes. On the dumb side, but he's nice enough, he's a good hang. So somebody actually cares when little old company figurehead Russell T. Dunbar..." He pointed to himself. "...is in the building. Kinda works, huh, better than nothing? Chasing skirt runs thin."

Kevin stood locked in place, overwhelmed. "Mr. Dunbar..."

"Then what happens? He chases a little _too much_ skirt, so they cut him off. Only...male...assistants. Good for little old Kevin, right, got you a job, huh? But you know you aren't the first male to assist me. And boy, did he ever end up assisting me, huh?"

"Mr. Dunbar, sir...I don't..."

Russell released the nameplate to his desk. Face down, so he wouldn't have to see his name. He examined his clothes; he ran a hand along his hair, then against his face, and found himself a mess. He was a mess.

And Russell walked a slow walk to the back of his desk, sitting carefully, painfully in his chair.

"Y'know...I hired an assistant, but that's not what I was paying him for. I was paying him to be my friend."

For the first time since joining the company, Kevin felt something altogether new for Russell Dunbar. Empathy. Perhaps there had been a reason for him staying, a reason beyond the regular conversations with the man's husband. He had found an amusing friend in Timmy, ever imploring him to give it one more day, and he'd muddled through, but now...maybe, just maybe the man before him truly needed him.

But Russell had practically forgotten the separate presence in the room, talking mostly to himself. "So, what happens when he's gone? When he's not on the payroll?"

"Well...he married you. He's crazy about you, believe me. He's not gone, he's just--"

"Not here."

It was then that Kevin took a risk. "...I'm here."

Russell looked up slowly.

"I know we haven't exactly gotten off on the right foot, Mr. Dunbar, but...I'm here."

The men looked at one another for some time. Processing one another, as if in careful consideration. And finally, Russell extended a nod. Acceptance of the proposition. And Kevin returned the nod. Two men, finding common ground.

"So...you want that coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

 

* * *

 

A group project. A group project, and Timmy was part of it. Not simply there to hold coffee for an employer whose hands had grown tired doing...other things. Not simply there pretending to assist the boss when really he was making endless mental notes, ensuring that Russell would have the slightest idea of what was even going on, no; he was really a member of the team, this time. They had requested his participation beyond that of cup holder.

There had gathered a group of six so far in the conference room, all appearing highly professional yet friendly, chatting casually with one another as they prepared their files.

Perfect. Just as it should be, and Timmy breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, he had found his place in the world.

Of course, a fly always lands in the ointment.

"Ah, damn it. Conroy," came a muttered voice as a man sat beside Timmy with a whistle and a slap of a folder upon the table.

"Well, hey there, buddy," he greeted quickly. "Chip Conroy, you must be Reynold's new guy. Heard wind of you."

"Timir Patel. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He offered a hand cautiously. The handshake that followed was nothing short of brutality, and Timmy resisted the urge to nurse his wound as the man continued spouting absurdities.

"Where'd you get that accent? You don't match up at all."

"Uh...I'm from--"

"Company's into affirmative action these days," Chip continued, looking around the room. He took special care to nod in the direction of those of a darker shade than him. "Heard we're getting another _woman_ tomorrow, too. Cute little four-eyed thing from downstairs, kinda uptight but I think I'll crack it. I wanna say...Alice?"

"Not yours to crack, Chip," came the sole female voice in the room.

"What, are you after that?" came a quick retort towards the woman. "Didn't know you swung that way."

"You really want another write-up? I'll do it."

"Whoa-oa-oa! Touch-y!"

Timmy's eyes widened a touch. He refrained from glaring at the man beside him. Of all the people in the room, he'd landed beside _one of them_.

To say nothing of the fact he'd married one of them. Beside the point entirely.

Or, perhaps...altogether to the point. He could, in fact, navigate the Russell Dunbars of the world _because_ he'd married one.

"So, what?" came the irritating voice of Timmy's neighbor. "Are you rocking a little bit of the Casbah thing? But then the accent is really tripping me up, here. How many guesses do I get?"

"Out of guesses. Man of mystery. Don't much care for you," Timmy spoke quite dismissively, then, loud enough for the room to hear: "I believe that's everyone, all present and accounted for? The _president of the company_ , one Mr. Charles, supplied me an itinerary previous to this meeting and has requested I lay out his desires for this project to the room, shall we begin?"

 

* * *

 

Audrey entered the apartment enthusiastically, grocery bags in hand. "Hey. Got the stuff for trick-or-treats. Candy. Some bats and spiders to spook the kids!" She pulled the creepy critters from a bag, bouncing them from strings with a grin.

Jeff pulled himself from Shea, jumping in her bouncer in the center of the living room, quite cheerfully distracted. He examined the horrifying creatures extending from Audrey's hands. "Yes. Today's youth are terrified of rubber dangling from ceilings. C'mon, we've got Brad's party tonight, we really have to do the candy thing?"

"We have plenty of time for both. You need to get your feet wet! Shea's gonna want to do this someday, just go with it, huh? Got her a little costume, and everything." From a bag, Audrey produced a tiny pumpkin outfit.

"To wear in our apartment for three hours?"

Audrey sighed in exasperation. "We'll take pictures, she'll...be cute, we're making memories!"

"Coulda gone out, used her as a free pass for candy instead of sitting here opening a door all night, you realize we're missing the golden opportunity of parenthood?"

"Jeff, we're not...!" She thought about it for a second. Oh...well, shoot. Still, ever stubborn, she headed towards the kitchen, returning with two large bowls, which she placed upon the dining room table as she continued her present task.

"You can eat candy any time. Which you do. This is for the trick-or-treaters." She revealed then two substantial bags of candy.

"Ya bought two?"

"Some kids are allergic to peanuts." As Audrey went about setting up not one but two bowls of candy, she carried on nonchalantly. "Plus, people have different tastes...in candy. Y'know, a little variety. How about you, Jeff?" She leaned a hand against the table, looking him square in the eyes. As if she was on a battlefield, sizing up an opponent. And, finally: "Are you hoping for a little variety?"

"What?"

"Are you hoping for some nuts, Jeff?"

Jeff stared at Audrey for an extended period of time, eyes narrowing. "In...my candy?"

She just...kept...staring. Then, practically snorting, she finished pouring candy into bowls. "What else would we be talking about?"

Oh, she was a tricky one. A game was surely afoot.

Jeff just...wasn't quite sure what the game was. He sucked his teeth slowly in consideration.

"Hey, Aud, y'know what, those creepy rubber things would look great _outside_ the door. I'll just go do that for ya."

"Oh, great, thanks, hon."

Jeff made his way outside the apartment, rubber in tow. He closed the door, and quickly found he had no way of actually attaching the darn things, settling on wrapping them lazily around the door knob. And he turned, walking away from his door, and down the hall.

 

* * *

 

"Awh, hey, Jeff!"

"Where's that wife of yours? Ten to one she knows something."

Rude...not even a hello back. Adam was quite put off by Jeff's behavior and, frankly, was not at all sure he felt inclined to allow him inside, given the circumstances. But the thought was quickly fleeting, Jeff's next comment somehow making up for the grievance.

"The, uh, face looks a little less like somebody threw acid on ya, good goin' there."

"Awh, hey, ya noticed!" He really _did_ care. Adam stepped aside, allowing Jeff entry. "Yeah, the doctors were able to bring down some of the swelling on my face. Can't really say the same for--"

Saved by the Jen. "Adam, Jeff doesn't want to hear anymore about your swollen junk."

Jeff motioned towards the new arrival in overwhelming agreement. "Oh my god, thank you!"

"I mean, seriously." Jen joined the men in the living room, face contorting painfully. "It's not good. You know when you're grilling and overcook the dogs by just _this_ much...?"

Jeff turned a sharp circle, thrusting a hand against his mouth. When he turned back towards the couple, he stared them down. "You...you two...have a problem, you know that, right? Like, you get right up to the edge of the 'appropriate information' cliff and you just...you walk right off of there."

Jen, ever unapologetic, remained unphased by Jeff's critiques. "Yeah, well, somebody besides me should have to suffer through this."

"And I'm sorry for all your suffering, I really am, but--"

"Hey!" Adam was starting to second guess allowing Jeff inside. "Who's the one with the burnt dog, here?!"

Jeff thrust both hands upon his face, holding back a scream. Why? Why had he come over here?! What on God's green earth could have compelled him to--

"Audrey!"

"No, it's me, I'm the one with the burnt dog, and you guys _totally_ suck!"

Jeff's look of contempt forced Adam to walk away, tail between his legs; Jeff focused his attentions on Jen, the one who surely held all the answers. "You know something."

"What are you talking about?"

"Audrey's acting up, and you know why."

Jen turned around and took to walking, over-exaggerated scoff escaping her throat. "Whatever."

"See, right there, you know something!" Directly on her heels. "You think I won't break you...? I've broken better women than you in my time."

"Look at you, of course you've broken them."

"Spill it, sister."

"Even if there was anything to spill, what makes you think I would?"

So, there it came. The silent stare-down; it appeared they were at an impasse. And so it came that Jennifer gave an inch...perhaps an inch too much.

"You can't win," she said at last.

"Oh, I'll win." Just keep pushing her; he'd have his answers soon enough.

"Audrey's got something you don't have."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Willpower."

"None whatsoever. Try again."

"Yeah, well, I think she has it in her to resist temptation, I've seen you go back for fourths when we go out together. And you put money on the line, you think she'll cave that easily? You wouldn't pass up a fourth burger for ten dollars, much less a hundred. Seriously, did you see yourself that night? You might have a problem."

There it was. "The results...! She told you about the bet?!"

Jen whipped a hand over her mouth. Too late.

"Thank you for your time, you've revealed everything."

 

* * *

 

Of course, Audrey had only wandered into the bedroom on a whim. Once there, she had only peeked inside the bedroom closet to ensure that the costumes for Brad and Jackie's party were still there, ready to go. Yep...safe and sound. She laughed lightly as she fingered the garments, eyes drifting casually around the--

Oh, what was this...a box? She reached for the object she had never before laid eyes upon, pulling it down in examination...what ever could this possibly be, whatever... _'Oh! Of course, silly me. The box with the envelope inside, revealing the sex of our child, the child I'm carrying inside my womb at this very moment.'_

 _'The envelope Jeff is so selfishly trying to prevent me from opening,'_ she thought, grimacing in anger.

 _'No...'_ Her face mellowed into a pout. _'No, now, that's not fair, we both agreed. If I open this envelope, if I read what's written here and he finds out, he'll never let me live it down...'_

Then again...a grin came about Audrey's face, a devilish grin, a telling expression of deceit, accompanied by a fiendish snicker.

He never had to find out.

 

* * *

 

Timmy held a whistle on his lips and a skip in his step as he entered the apartment, setting about loosening his tie as he danced his way into the living room. He released a long breath and collapsed into a chair, stretching out with a satisfied smile.

None of these actions were lost on Russell, who stood in the center of the living room, observing the grand entrance quite carefully. "Well, don't you look cheery. You get lucky at work or something, what is this?"

"Lucky at life, that's what I am," Timmy declared, sinking deeper in his seat.

"Oh." Russell turned away slightly.

"Oh, darling, you should have seen me today. I was at the top of my game, I was positively on fire!"

"Hope somebody put you out, that's a...safety hazard." Russell's attempt at humor drifted off lazily as he wandered away from Timmy, quickly changing the subject. "Emily's coming over."

Timmy, only slightly irked at being cut off so abruptly, fell in line with the topic shift. "Tonight?"

"Yeah, she wants to come help hand out candy to screeching spawn goblins or something."

Timmy stood, continuing the process of undressing, fingers grasping casually at shirt buttons as he meandered thoughtfully. "Ah, yes...Halloween." He found Russell walking further away from him, and made an effort to stay near him.

"I don't get this trick-or-treat thing," said Russell.

"You never did it as a child?"

"Nah, I did. The chauffeur took me around town with Helga."

"The nanny. Of course."

"Those were the better years. I remember a couple of times I was stuck in the office with Dad and I'm in my little costume, right? I'd end up with a bag full of toner and creamer packets...little tip, don't wanna mix those up. Paper clips. Got a stapler once." He laughed away a sudden desire to cry. "Good times, man...what uh, what about you, you probably went all costumed out as some crazy lookin' God or something."

"Oh. Oh, no, Halloween isn't in our repertoire of holidays, I never celebrated at all."

"Ah. Lame."

Timmy perked, his face lighting up in memory . "Oh, but we did partake in a holiday falling very near the same day. My mother would go all out. Diwali, you see, the Festival of Lights. I assure you, it's quite lovely and I do miss how--"

"Yeah, light are cool, I guess. Not as cool as candy and blood and stuff, but whatever."

Timmy watched as Russell turned away, this time feeling a pang of anxiety at the callousness of the dismissal.

 _'Well,'_  Timmy assured himself, _'nothing new. Let it go.'_   Then, startled at the thought, thinking better of allowing such a fact to make it all okay, he sought to correct the situation. "Russell..."

But there came a knock upon the door. Timmy heaved a sigh, retreating to the bedroom as Russell greeted his daughter.

"Hey, Em."

"Hey--" She failed to get further in her introduction, laughter replacing words as she found herself surrounded by eager arms, shaken mercilessly. "Russell!"

He let go to offer a reprimanding glare. "Hey, what'd we say?"

"I'm sorry...Dad. You know I'm working on it, the folks aren't real keen on this whole thing."

"Your mom's getting a little better, said two whole words to me the other day."

"Were they 'hi, Russell'?"

A long pause. "Uh...sure, let's go with that. How's the old man these days?"

"Mm...my dad doesn't want anything to do with you. You can't really blame him, competing with 'the other father' wasn't exactly on his bucket list. I keep telling him it's not a competition, but--"

"I'll race him or something, if that's what he wants. I could probably take him."

"Ahh..." Emily patted a hand against Russell's stomach. "No offense, but you're the one with the dad bod. He runs. Do you even work out?"

"Define 'work out'?"

Russell pouted slightly at Emily's coy grin; he looked down the length of his body. Then, smugly, he crossed his arms against his chest, assuring himself he hadn't aged a day past twenty. "Well, some people like it."

Emily laughed off Russell's ego with a shake of her head. "Where are 'some people,' anyway?"

"He's getting outta work duds. He's got a promotion as work or something, he's in a good mood, just roll with it."

The way he had phrased the statement stood out to her. "What are you leaving out?"

Russell met Emily's eyes a moment...then diverted abruptly. "Tim's happy, okay? Play it up."

Emily found a strand of connection in Russell, an unbreakable familial empathy, and quaked at the first sign of a troubled heart. But then, she always did lend herself to empathy towards most people...and towards rushing to fix problems that weren't hers to fix. One of those irritating little differences between the two of them that so irked Russell.

Not so dissimilar from a certain somebody else he shared his life with. Why were they all like this?

"Hey...is everything all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

There came the hand upon the hip, the head tilt...the knowing smirk. "Hmm. Daddy...?"

Russell's face contorted with a growl. He hated that. The manipulation. The puppy-dog eyes. He'd never realized that a woman could be so adorable in a way that didn't make him want to sleep with her.

This fatherhood thing was weird.

"Good evening, Emily." Timmy emerged from the bedroom, casually dressed and full of smiles for the new arrival.

"Hey, Timmy!" She held up a bag. "I brought Snickers for the kids."

"Ohhh!" groaned Russell. "Full-size Snickers? Come on, am I made of money, here?"

Timmy scoffed. "You didn't buy them, Emily did."

"It's setting a precedent! Now they're always gonna hit us up every year, 'these guys've got the goods!' I can't afford that much candy."

Timmy rolled his eyes, addressing Emily now. "He goes on weekly binges, probably twice that much in sweets. I find them stashed throughout the apartment. I've had to put it in the budget."

Emily sniggered towards Russell. "Are you sure you shouldn't be working out?"

Russell patted Timmy against the chest. "He helps me burn it off."

Timmy placed a hand against his face with a sigh of humiliation and defeat as Russell retreated in the direction of the kitchen.

"Where are the big bowls?"

"In the cabinet!"

"Where?!" Russell called from the kitchen.

"In front of your eyes, keep looking!!" called Timmy. He turned slightly to find Emily had approached him quite rapidly, with some sense of urgency. "Oh..."

"Hey, is everything okay?"

Timmy fumbled for words. "Uhm...I..."

"Russell's acting funny."

"Oh." Timmy nodded softly in agreement to this fact. "He has been rather out of sorts. It's nothing, Emily, you needn't worry yourself."

"Well, are you guys okay?"

And although Timmy aimed to speak again, he was surprised to find his lips locked, his eyes diverting now as his brain rushed to formulate a response. Were...were they...

"I can't find anything in this stupid kitchen, anymore!" Russell peered from the door.

Timmy turned. "Yes, sorry. Coming."

 

* * *

 

Audrey knew. She had spent the last few minutes lovingly caressing her stomach, having revealed the secret to herself. The sex of her next child. She had revealed the secret to Shea...and implored her not to tell her daddy, regardless of the fact that she was still very much incapable of comprehensible speech.

Audrey had lost the bet, of course. But Jeff didn't need to know that. All she had to do was have him break, have him _need to know_ the sex, take a peek, and let him think he'd lost the bet...she'd only have to live with the guilt of the lie for the rest of her life. It was the perfect plan.

When Jeff returned to the apartment, only knowing half the story, he eyed Audrey most suspiciously...and calculated his next move. He had to get her to look in the envelope first.

The couple smiled at one another very sweetly...too sweetly, this Halloween evening. Sweet as candy, as the first of the trick-or-treaters arrived at their door; a group of small boys.

As the youngsters left, Audrey turned to Jeff, letting off a whimsical sigh. "Ohh, wouldn't you just love to have one of those running around the house?"

"...A Ninja Turtle?"

Audrey's eyes narrowed in irritation.

 

* * *

 

Russell had been more than pleased to hand the Halloween reigns over to Emily, having placed two folding chairs just far enough behind the entryway to observe without interfering, as if she might be a show he were attending. And he did appear utterly enthralled with the evening's entertainment, Timmy observed, smile authentic upon each miniature costumed arrival, each lilting exchange of "trick or treat" between guest child and grown daughter. Emily took quite naturally to the children, and they to her.

And Russell sat, a silent observer. He was lost. He was in love.

As Timmy made careful note of his husband's emotions, he found his own could no longer be contained. "Do you know something?"

Russell held down the pleasured, giddy laughter in his chest as Emily knelt before a pair of sparkling princesses, turning now to Timmy. "What's that?"

"I'm quite enamored with you in this moment."

Russell's initial reaction was a touch of humiliation, smile easing down. But Timmy's beaming grin, the bit of joy clearly having overtaken him, assured him that he ought not worry. It had taking Russell some time to catch up to the fact that letting down his guard, the very thing he'd always thought such an unappealing trait, led way to the very things Timmy found so attractive in him.

"Yeah, uh..." Russell looked down with a nervous chuckle, hand brushing back his hair. A flirtatious, nervous gesture. "Well, y'know." As if he were on a date. _Just play it cool man, we like this guy, we don't wanna blow it._

Timmy's heart laughed. Yes. Positively enamored.

"Is this, uh, the first Halloween we've spent together?" Russell broke the tension at last, knowing too deep an emotional display was uncalled for at the time, much less a romantic display.

Given, of course, their idea of romance these days hardly included clothing. No sense in scarring the children.

"Oh, uhm...first?" said Timmy. "Well, no."

"First one _together_."

"Oh, yes. First everything together, isn't it?"

"Been plenty of holidays. Office parties, but that crap doesn't really count."

Timmy shoved at Russell's leg all at once, excited. "Oh! Oh, Thanksgiving!"

Russell shook his head slowly. "N...no...Halloween," he said, pointing towards the front door.

Timmy let off a frustrated sigh. "No, Thanksgiving. I'd been with the company no more than six months, I'd wager, and I came over to your apartment for dinner...you were all alone, I'd taken pity on you."

Russell laughed so loudly, so indignantly that Emily turned towards the men to see what had caused such a commotion. "Is everything okay?"

The men nodded, waving Emily back. She smirked at them, returning to her post as the men set about whispering.

"Pity on me? Pity on you pal, new guy in a new country..."

"Do you even know how long I've been in America?"

Blank faced.

"Besides, darling, you were pathetic. It was either me or a call girl, as I recall. And you burnt dinner. TV dinners, yes?"

"We burnt dinner, we were busy talking."

Timmy paused in reflection. "Oh...oh, yes. We were both without our families, it was...a rare sort of bonding moment, as I recall...for that time. When I was still so unsure of you."

Russell scoffed a touch, returning his sights to Emily in deflection. "Yeah, well, all I remember is you eating burnt turkey...I mean, I think it was turkey...it was charred something."

"That was me growing sure of you."

Russell kept sight of Emily, resisting a smile.

"And all our holidays will be spent together, here on out. No more talk of loneliness and lack of family over charred dinners...I mean, the charred dinners, certainly, your cooking still leaves something to be desired--"

"Hey, now."

"But we've gained the family, haven't we?"

Russell felt something familiar as he examined Timmy's face, which held a mellow sort of comfort there, a sign of sincerity, of love. And yet there came a nagging now, a pull from Russell's gut. He heard laughter from the front door; more children.

A vampire and a witch. Standard fare, but cute things, tiny, the witchy girl's hair tumbling in golden curls. And then another laugh, sweet, and his eyes drifted upwards to the woman distributing candy to the tots. Cat ears placed atop her head...whiskers, swiftly drawn upon her cheeks with something from her purse, a makeup stick, some chick thing, in a pinch.

Cute as hell. Russell's kid. As the children left, she turned to him, raising a paw, and voiced a tiny meow.

Suddenly, Emily she was no longer a 20-something woman. No. Russell saw her there, a child...small. Frail. Beautiful. His child.

As Emily turned back for the door and the next gaggle of children, Russell's breath caught.

"I missed everything, Tim..."

"What?" voiced Timmy.

"Emily. I missed it all."

"Oh..." Timmy gazed affectionately towards Emily. "Yes, well...you have time, now, all the time in the world to make up for what you've missed, so--"

"I want a baby."

Timmy turned to Russell, wide-eyed. "Excuse me?"

The excitement in Russell's voice began to grow the longer he spoke. "You. Me. A baby, we should have a kid, you and me, you wanna do that?"

It took a moment for Timmy's brain to play catch up. "You're...serious?"

"Yes!" Russell's smile was broad. Shockingly sincere. "Come on, picture it...you and me! Havin' a kid! You could be the dad!" Russell was inching ever closer to Timmy.

"We'd both be the--"

"Don't you want us to have a baby?" He'd perched along the edge of his chair now, practically shaking.

"You realize that's a biological impossibility?"

"You know what I mean. We'd get somebody. Just need an egg, right?" He looked to the distance, as if deep in thought. Planning. "Now, do we want white eggs or brown eggs? I mean, I know what I like for breakfast, but babies...?"

"DOWN, BOY!"

And Russell froze; he looked to Timmy, really looked to him, finding his face lost in fright, as if he'd just seen a ghost. Appropriate, given the occasion. And slowly, very slowly, Russell slid back into his chair...silently, casually, as if he hadn't uttered a word.

Timmy waited...and waited. And finally, having gained the willpower to speak again, he did so carefully...no wrong moves. "Russell, it isn't as though I don't want children. Some...someday. It's just...between our jobs..."

Russell groaned lightly.

"And, uhm...well, are you certain you could handle the responsibility of--"

"A pony."

"Wh...what?"

"That kid's a pony."

Timmy looked to the door, to the newest trick-or-treater standing before Russell's already grown child. And he sighed out softly, slinking down slightly in his seat. "Yes. Yes, I see."

 

* * *

 

Adam opened the door for a miniature werewolf and a bunny, gleaming brightly at the children. "Well, hello!"

"Trick or..." The children froze. They looked to Adam's face, and let forth high pitched screams, dropped their candy, and flew down the hall in a mad dash. Two angry mothers glared.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said one as they followed the terrorized tots.

Adam shrugged. He picked up a loose piece of candy one of the children had dropped as he closed the door. "M&Ms."

"Adam!" Jen was quick to scold from her place on the sofa. "I know you're into this whole Halloween thing, but you're literally stealing candy from babies, now."

"Hey, those were not babies. Toddlers, at least."

"That's at least the third set of kids you've scared off, I thought your face was getting better. You don't look that bad, do you?"

Adam turned around, facing Jen. "Yeah, it _was_ looking better, so I had to work some magic, touch it back up, y'know?"

"Oh, my god, Adam...!"

"I know, right? I look badass!"

"You're supposed to be handing out candy, not giving kids PTSD!"

"Well, I didn't think it was that bad, you think I should tone it down, or--?"

"Plus you just applied a bunch of makeup to your already disease-ridden face, what are you thinking?"

"Hey, my face is not disease-ridden! It was an allergic reaction from applying reproductive serum _we_ bought from Moonflower, and she came--"

"Highly recommended, she came highly freakin' recommended!" Jen left the sofa, rolling her eyes perhaps the heaviest she'd ever rolled them. "And I'm trying to keep your gene pool alive!"

Before Adam could form a rebuttal, another knock came upon the door. "I don't have time for this, I'm on candy duty."

The new arrival was perhaps ten years old, alone, unsupervised. Dressed as Jason Voorhees, complete with hockey mask and plastic machete.

"Wicked costume, little dude." Adam plunked a piece of candy in the child's bucket. "Happy Halloween!"

"What happened to your face?"

"Oh...uh, it's makeup."

"Not very good makeup. Sure you're not diseased, or something?"

"No, I'm not diseased!"

"So you're just that ugly all the time?"

"What? No!"

"If you're diseased, you shouldn't be handing out candy to kids. You're probably handing out diseased candy. I should probably tell the authorities."

"What?!"

Jason walked away without another word. Adam closed the door, turning to Jen, slack jawed. "Can you believe that kid?!"

Jen was trying very hard to resist a laugh. "Yeah, that was crazy."

When all at once, several smacks could be heard landing firm against the outside of the door, causing both Adam and Jen to jump.

When at last the commotion seemed to have settled, Jen urged Adam forward. "Uh, you should probably go check on that..."

Adam approached the door cautiously...and opened it to find that--

"Jason egged us!"

 

* * *

 

Jeff and Audrey could hardly look at one another with a straight face...no, every look was filled with sneaking suspicions and calculated smirks, intent on swaying their opponent.

How long could they both hold out?

As long as that baby in her stomach could.

The trick-or-treaters had dwindled down now, and so the couple had taken to chatting, sitting across from one another at the dining room table...and so, like a game of chess Audrey had been preparing her next move several steps ahead. It was time to play.

"Know what I'm going to do next week?"

"No, what?"

"I think it's time to start getting a new wardrobe, you know, for baby number two? I found this great little shop uptown...of course, I'll have to buy twice as much."

Jeff leaned back in his chair. "Why, uh...would you have to do that?"

"Oh...well, I don't know if I'm planning for a boy or a girl, so naturally I'd have to buy both. What am I gonna do, leave the kid naked?"

This was sounding strangely logical, somehow. Logical, and involving money. Jeff was growing displeased.

"Speaking of being naked," spoke Audrey thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin.

"Got Brad's party in a few, but I could hammer one out quick," Jeff offered, relieved at the change of subject.

The look on Audrey's face assured Jeff he'd missed the mark. "That's exactly what I was getting at. We can't go to the party without costumes, go get them, they're in the closet."

Jeff took to his feet with a nod. "The, uh...bedroom closet?"

"Yeah."

Upon arriving at his destination, Jeff found the costumes...and something more. The box...the envelope. That sneaky little devil, sending him in here, knowing that he was walking right into a trap.

Well, he wasn't falling for it. He snatched the costumes, and closed the door.

He opened the door, snatching the box; he opened the box, and stared at the envelope. If he lost the bet, he was out a hundred dollars...if she found out. But hell, he was out that much and more anyway, the way she shopped...two new wardrobes for a baby that wasn't even born yet? Crazy little wife of his.

He may or may not have looked in the envelope.

He did. Of course he did.

"Jeff! Adam's here!"

Jeff dashed in a scramble to secure his secret back in place. "Coming!"

Adam was frantically talking to Audrey as Jeff made his way into the living room.

"And then this little punk comes back _again_ , and what do you think he does?!"

"I couldn't even begin to guess," said Audrey, dazed.

"He duct-taped our door shut, we were trapped! He must have had a step-ladder or something because he did a number on that thing, it was everywhere...we had to call the superintendent to pry us out, and I am not on good terms with that guy since the hallway slip 'n' slide incident... long story short, I fixed him up real good in the candy department, if ya know what I mean... Jeff! Jeff, thank God you're here, you would not believe the night we've had!!"

 

* * *

 

Jeff stood with Adam, staring at a battered door. Sure enough, remnants of duct tape. Signs of eggs having hit at high speed and, most damning of all, the graffiti...

'POX FACE LIVES HERE'

"Heh...you're pox face."

"This kid is a punk, man, he's been coming back all night...one time I opened the door and he sprayed silly string, another time h-he just stood outside blasting an air horn...it's been going on all night and...oh, my god, that's him, _hide_."

From down the hall, tiny Jason Voorhees came strolling along, a whistle on his lips. He stopped before the men. "Ready for more, pox face?"

"Go away, just go away!"

"Seriously?" said Jeff. "What are you, eight?" And Jeff reached out, grabbing Jason under each arm.

"Hey! Let me go, ya jerk!" Legs kicked to no avail.

"You had fun tonight...but no more. Who's behind the mask?"

"None of your business!"

Jeff turned to Adam. "Unmask Jason." Adam did as instructed, carefully pulling up the mask of his miniature bully. Jeff nodded, satisfied. "Billy...I know your father, he's always trying to sell me your crap for Scouts. Not very Scout-like behavior, picking on the building idiot."

As soon as the child's feet hit the ground, he set off running; Jeff and Adam watched as he disappeared out of sight.

"You realize you want one of those," said Jeff.

Adam turned to Jeff, countering: "Yeah, well, you've got two of those."

The men stared wordlessly at one another for some time. Then, breaking out in soft laughter, Jeff patted Adam on the back with a nod. "Let me fill you in on this whole fatherhood thing. We're all crazy, buddy, and so are they...kinda helps balance this whole thing out."

Adam groaned softly.

"Get used to it."

Adam nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah...hey, Jeff?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you just call me the building idiot?" When he received no reply, he sighed out in disappointment. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I might have to bump Russell back up to BFF again...not cool, man."

 

* * *

 

Kevin had been slightly apprehensive in traveling the distance to Mr. Dunbar's building, but he had assured himself it was worth the extra effort via a preliminary text-session with one Mr. Patel.

> Kevin: Russell left phone at work, protocol?
> 
> Timmy: Bring it to our apartment, the address is on file.
> 
> Kevin: no is that such a good idea?
> 
> Timmy: Trust me, he's attached to his phone, brownie points galore. I can't tell you how many times I fetched his phone.
> 
> Kevin: okay but remember I only want him to not fire me, I don't wanna sleep with the guy
> 
> Timmy: Haha, you're hilarious, just bring the phone, Kevin.

Kevin walked the hall towards Russell's apartment now, confidence in tow. Mr. Dunbar was a miserable cretin, to be sure, but they were beginning to make an honest connection -- maybe there were layers. He had come to this conclusion some time ago, realizing that Timmy seemed a genuinely fine human being, empathetic and intelligent; if he had somehow found it in himself to marry the man, he must have cracked the Dunbar code. But Kevin was beginning to see it for himself...a different phenomena entirely.

He was very near his boss's door when he fell distracted by a friendly wave and the prettiest smile he'd ever seen; his feet took several steps backwards, following the woman who had taken the time to gain his attention.

"Uh, hi there." Kevin flashed a grin.

"Oh. Hello." She stopped walking.

He had to think fast. "Hey, uh...you're the cutest cat I've ever seen."

Emily put a hand first to her face, remembering her makeshift whiskers, then to her head, finding cat ears...she giggled softly. "Oh, I forgot I was wearing these." She aimed to pull them off.

"No, hey, leave 'em on. They suit you." An odd compliment, but she seemed to accept it. At least she hadn't run away, yet.

As a matter of fact, she was offering her hand in introduction. "Emily."

 

* * *

 

Russell snapped to attention. "TIMMY!"

Timmy, having left the room a moment prior, dashed madly back to find Russell locked stone cold, facing the front door.

"What, what is it, what's going on?!"

"I...don't know. I...sense something."

Timmy relaxed, realizing there was no sense of urgency, but turned instead to glaring at Russell with some sense of intrigue. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Russell walked towards the front door. He placed his hand against it, as if he could feel the vibrations of a terrible trouble brewing on the other side. "Something's...happening."

 

* * *

 

Emily was laughing. Kevin was laughing.

They had made a connection.

"So yeah," said Kevin, "I was planning on uh, dropping by this club before I head for home, y'know, Halloween thing, you're already a kitty cat and everything, sooo..."

"I don't have plans." Emily brushed hair behind an ear, containing a touch of excitement.

"Oh! Oh, that's...that's great...cool, I just...I've gotta go, uh--" He pulled Russell's phone from his pocket. "My boss is a space case. Let me go give this to Mr. Dunbar, and--"

Emily turned away, suppressing a laugh, leaving Kevin in a daze of confusion.

"Uh..."

"Yeah, I'll take that." Emily snatched the phone from Kevin's hand with a coy smile. "Russell's always forgetting his phone."

Kevin, a light chuckle, watched Emily turn and take a mere pace back to Russell's door. "You, uh, you know Russell?"

But she'd already opened the door, yelling back inside in a far too casual tone. "Hey, Dad, you left your phone at work!" Teasingly, she added: "Again."

As she disappeared back inside the apartment, Kevin's face locked in dread. Run? Should he run, now? He'd just made a date with the boss's daughter. The boss, who had only just decided that he wasn't, perhaps, the scourge of the earth. This seemed like the sort of situation in which one should not wait around to see what happened, he could probably leave now and she would never notice a thing...

"Ready to go?"

There she was. Standing there. Ugh, she was stinkin' cute. How'd something that cute come from...

"Uhh...he, uh...and you..." Kevin grit his teeth. He looked to Russell's door, then back to Emily. "Uh, yeah...yeah, let's get out of here."

He was a dead man.

 

* * *

 

As the evening went on, Timmy couldn't be sure of what was happening, aside from the fact that Russell was unsettled. Markedly unsettled, and covering.

Russell had struck up the fireplace shortly after Emily's departure. He had sat for a strangely long time staring at the flames; as if they might reveal some message, as if a great deal more interesting than the partner he neglected to explain this strange behavior to, holding more knowledge and respite. He had placed his hands very near the flames, and Timmy had pulled him back in an effort to communicate some silent message, that he was there, that he was living and breathing and warm and real.

Russell left him for domestic duties, idling himself about the house. Rejection.

What was happening?

And so they had joined one another in the kitchen. Timmy had been attempting to speak for the last five minutes, having positioned himself at the kitchen island, making a curious student of himself as he observed his husband in the act of washing dishes.

Russell never washed dishes. He was terrible at it. Something was wrong.

"So...I've been thinking about what you said."

It seemed as though Russell was suddenly making quite an effort to clink dishes ever louder, to cover the sound of Timmy's voice.

"I couldn't help in wondering, uhm...what's...brought about these sudden yearnings towards paternity? Not that...the thought had never crossed my mind, it's just I'm not at all sure that now would be an appropriate time to bring a child into--"

"Something's missing," Russell spoke softly, scrubbing lightly, as if still at all focused on kitchen grease.

"What...do you mean?"

"Maybe we need something. Do you think we need something?"

"A child's not a 'something,' Russell, what are you on about?"

Russell dismissed the suds in the sink, chucking a plate a bit too carelessly as he turned to walk away. "We've gotta get ready for that party."

"Russell..."

"Brad and Jackie live a whole what, three yards away, you need that in metric? We'll never make it in time."

"Please look at me, please talk to me."

"Yeah, we should get ready." He was moving for the door.

No. Timmy stood quickly now, reaching for Russell before he could escape, catching him from behind. He grabbed him. He held him, arms wrapping about him, grasping at his chest and pulling him taught against him in a firm embrace.

"Timmy, what--"

"Nope."

"C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"If I have to stand here and squeeze emotional honesty out of you, I'm going to do it."

Russell nearly broke, a tearful sort of laugh. "You're nuts, man."

"You've made me this way. Now please, darling, just talk to me, let me in." Timmy pulled him a bit closer to emphasize his next words: "I need you."

It was here that Russell broke. His voice drifted out weak, though his words stood quite assured. "You don't need me."

Timmy's grip loosened just a touch from devastation. "Wh--...how on earth can you say such a thing...?"

Russell pulled from Timmy's grasp full force, turning to face him. "YOU DON'T NEED ME!"

Timmy stood stunned. Daggered. Unable to speak.

"You jerk, why..." Russell could barely stand to look at Timmy in this moment, for he appeared so broken-hearted. "Ah, god. Why do you think I worked so hard to keep you around the office, huh? Before you left the first time?"

"You always act as if there'll be a second time." Timmy could barely form the words, they seemed so apprehensible. "You seem so sure of it, why must you take for granted that I'm going to...to leave, as if you have no faith in me, in us, as if..."

"You didn't have a choice when I was paying you! You have a choice now!"

"I always...had...a choice! And I keep making that choice, I'm here, aren't I? If I didn't need you, I wouldn't be here!"

"You're so damn perfect, you're...you're smart, and...refined, a-and _adorable_ , dude, who are we kidding, you've got your whole life ahead of you...you don't need a guy like me!"

"I _want_ a guy like you!!"

The men's eyes met sharply, deeply at this statement, their brains both sputtering a moment. And Timmy reached a hand towards Russell, who pulled away.

"I knew that if you weren't _required_ to hang around me that eventually you'd start cutting out, and it's happening, I-I can feel it, you've got the great new job, you're life's coming together..."

"You're part of that life..." Timmy offered softly, urgently.

"You never really needed me. The one good thing I could have done for you, _should_ have done for you, I never did. I couldn't let you go, I just held onto you like a selfish piece of--"

"I wouldn't have gone," Timmy assured. "You could have let me go, promoted me a million times over, I would have stayed."

"We both know you would have left, Tim, don't be stupid. And...you wouldn't be here now." A deep, foreboding silence; an alternate reality brewed in two minds who should have known better than to think such things. At last Russell poised his final question: "So what the hell have I ever done for you?"

"What have you done for...?" The anger grew in the far back of Timmy's throat, rising quickly. "What have you ever done for me?!"

Russell turned sharply at the first sign of genuine anger in Timmy's eyes, leaving the kitchen; he knew he'd be followed, and naturally he was.

"Now you listen here, Russell Dunbar!"

Footsteps halted...frozen in place...breath shallow.

"You have loved me, Russell! That's what you've done for me! Fiercely, you've loved me."

Russell turned very slowly, shaking ever so slightly in his attempt at composure. "Is that enough? I get...scared. I've been scared for a long time now, y'know, I just..."

But Timmy had already raced towards Russell, seizing his opportunity. This time, the embrace was fully accepted.

Arms wrapped ever tighter about one another, fingers gripping, hands grasping, pulling one another closer in a desperate plea to maintain connection.

They'd needed this. To just connect. Somehow, perhaps they'd begun drifting further and further apar--

A knock upon the door.

 _Go away_ , the men implored silently, as the knocking very much continued.

And as the visitor disobeyed their silent order, they pulled back, meeting one another's eyes. An all too brief moment, a lovers' gaze, filled with a thousand meshed words, left floating in the air for Russell to untangle as Timmy turned away to collect himself and answer the door.

And Russell, wishing nothing more than to pull his husband back to him this evening, to hold him close and never let him go, for the risks felt far too severe, watched him walk away. He turned in the direction of the bedroom, placing his insecurities and tears once more in that happy little box marked 'denial,' and hid away the key.

Just for tonight.


	4. Bloody Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween (a touch late)! A late thank you for the lovely comments & feedback last chapter, you guys are the best. <3

"Hey, neighbor!" Jackie was full of pep and vigor this All Hallow's Eve, and dressed to the nines in silver sparkle. Wide collar, feathers on the sleeves, a full-fledged Liberace number. More than a bit hackneyed, he had told the mister...what, was he a walking cliche? But what the hell, it's a special occasion, why not live a little!

Jackie's smile took a slow turn now as he laid witness to his neighbor. Timmy stood uncomfortably silent, having opened the door to his apartment with what seemed a severe lack of enthusiasm. "Bad timing? Don't wanna intrude, just double-checking on your RSVP. You boys still planning on making a party appearance tonight?"

"Yes, of course," Timmy assured, but his voice had lost it's confidence, and Jackie could read people.

"Now, don't tell me. I've caught you in the midst of either a very heated emotional purging, or the throes of passion."

He was right, of course, on both accounts. Timmy had left Russell all alone, having pulled away from a death grip of an embrace...no telling where things might have led this evening if not for Jackie's rather abrupt, ill-timed interruption. They had stumbled upon a moment of raw emotion, he and Russell, something they had been lacking in recent weeks, and if not for this rather uncomfortable silence he now found himself in with Jackie, he would still be holding Russell...really feeling him. My god, had they truly felt one another in weeks? Aside from sex? What an absurd thought, that two people could have sex and never truly _touch_...

"Penny for your thoughts."

"What? Ex...excuse me, were you saying something?"

"Is it that man of yours? Y'know, if I'd realized before now that you were who you were and _he_ was who he is, I'd have been keeping a closer eye on that fella. No offense, but--"

"None taken."

"Is he treating you right?"

Timmy had little choice but to smile at Jackie's sudden guard dogging. "Yes. Yes, of course..."

 

* * *

 

Russell was pacing in the bedroom, having a private conversation with himself...attempting to reason with the most unreasonable person he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing.

"You're making an idiot of yourself, man...you're gettin' weak out there, get your head back in the game, don't let him see you sweat."

He'd just broken down in front of Timmy again, as always, though barely. He hated doing that, he hated crumbling for anyone, but...

"Isn't that what he wants, though? 'Vulnerability,' 'transparency,' uhh, what's that crap he's always... 'your parents stifled you, you can finally let yourself breathe emotionally,' ugh..." Russell walked straight into a wall, bashing his head repeatedly, softly, yet just enough to sting.

He recovered quickly at the first sign of intrusion, turning on swift feet with a whistle to face Timmy.

"You, guy...who I married! Party. Costumes. Where? Dressed, let's get dressed. Stupid...thing we're doing..."

Timmy set about walking in the direction of the closet, though never removing his eyes from Russell. His actions were all slow, dreadfully so, from each footstep, to hand upon the door...handle turning sloooowly...

And Russell rushed the door, grumbling, reaching past Timmy and whipping out handfuls of spandex with a flippant toss towards the bed. He missed. He sighed deeply as he knelt to retrieve the costumes.

Timmy was soon standing by his side. "I'm sure Brad and Jackie would excuse our absence if you wished to stay in tonight."

"What? Why?"

"Well, I just thought--"

"We're going." He placed crumpled clothing on an uncharacteristically unmade bed, and stood back, examining his life. He felt Timmy's hand fall upon his shoulder, and flinched.

"I want you to understand something. Just one thing, and then we can put on ludicrous costumes, and walk down the hall and be chatted up by strangers. You can get slobbering drunk if you like, but I need you to hear this one thing. Really hear it."

"Uh-huh."

"You're listening, Russell?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever!"

Timmy's fingers pressed just a bit tighter into Russell's shoulder; Russell cooled under his touch.

"You seem so sure you're losing me, you appear threatened by...by my work, o-or a sense of complacency, or simply time."

"By you...coming to your senses."

"Stop it." Timmy made a slow circle to the front of Russell, his hand shifting from his shoulder across his neck, landing on his husband's chin, forcing his head upwards. When he was sure Russell was looking at him, really looking, he spoke with firm conviction. "Please, this is all I ask of you, and let me make this perfectly clear... I'm. Still. Here."

Russell's chest heaved a visible breath; slow. Heavy.

"Do not look through me when I'm standing right in front of you."

Russell could feel himself begin to break; he blinked away his tears, pulled the pieces back together, nodded slowly...and he diverted swiftly, pulling out from Timmy's touch and gravitating towards the bed and colorful distractions.

Timmy sat beside costumes on the bed, giving up the ghosts of suffering, allowing Russell his divergence. He sighed out, grasping at a bit of fabric. "These are terrible, why did I let you talk me into these?"

"So...picture me as a kid, right?"

"Not so difficult, you'd be about the same--"

"Same size, funny. So uh, when I was a kid, I spent a lot of time...alone, I didn't exactly have... _actual_ friends. TV was a friend, and I would get all these ideas in my head whenever there was some super cool team, y'know, that...maybe someday I'd have somebody to be the Starsky to my Hutch. Duke to my Bo."

"Oh...well, dearest, I'm honored to fulfill that role for--"

"Mary Ann to my Ginger..."

"Ah, yes, well...both women."

Russell was building up that coy, lecherous smile Timmy was so familiar with, a far-off look in his eyes. "Lot of time alone together on that island...slim pickings on the men, I mean, the professor, _maybe_ , but y'know those girls had goo-goo eyes for each other, and the curves on--"

"Eh-hem!"

"Whu--?" Russell looked to Timmy, glassy-eyed.

"Have you ever successfully gotten through a story without it derailing into sex? We've just gone from childhood memories to who's doing who on Gilligan's Island."

A bit begrudgingly, Russell returned to the task at hand, reaching for Timmy's costume and plunking it unceremoniously upon his partner's lap. "So, here. You're Robin."

"Why should I be Robin?"

"Because that's how it goes, I'm Batman, I get all the super-cool Batman stuff, and you're my sidekick. Although yeah, come to think of it, you're not really so much a Robin as you are a... _swallow_..."

Russell wore that stupid grin that so annoyed Timmy, hand raised in the air for a celebratory high-five; left hanging, naturally, and so the smile swiftly fell, and he stood, marching quickly away to change.

"You're gonna look hot in tights," Russell assured.

"You've seen me in tights before."

"When?" Russell called from the bathroom.

"You'd aimed to humiliate me," Timmy called back. He stood, holding up his costume for examination. "Ohhh, dear."

 

* * *

 

This cab was quiet...too quiet. If Kevin could have rolled down his window and jumped out, risking mortifying death in the process, he might have thought it a feasible alternative to his present predicament.

He'd be dead tomorrow, anyway. He'd get to work. Boss man would take one look at him and know. He would smell her on him, and it would all be over...

"So, you're Russell's new assistant?"

Kevin turned his attentions slowly back towards the girl who sat pressed against the opposite side of the cab; the girl in the kitty cat ears with the drawn-on whiskers.

No. Why did she have to be so remarkably cute? He tried to will himself to see Russell Dunbar in the girl, to try and turn himself off of her a touch, just a touch. Perhaps there was a family resemblance, he assured himself...and so there was, but not enough. Not enough to override a subtle smile full of charm and class and just a touch of nerves.

He hardly knew her...but damn it.

He _liked_ her.

"Assistant, yeah. And you, uh...you're his..."

"This doesn't need to be weird," she assured.

"Ha!" He hadn't meant to laugh, certainly not loudly enough that the cab driver up front had taken notice, glaring just a touch too long in the rear-view mirror. Kevin brushed the man's eyes away with a grimace.

"Uh...how long have you been his assistant?"

"Not, uh...not long. A few months." Kevin, attempting humor, provided his most dashing smile and hair flip. "How long have you been his daughter?"

"A few months."

Kevin's smile fell swiftly, face locking in confusion. The pleasured giggle of amusement that followed from the girl did little to ease the sudden spinning in his brain. Perhaps insanity ran in the family.

At last Emily decided to ease her company's mind, for he seemed a touch bewildered, and more than a bit anxiety-ridden. "How well do you know Russell?"

"Uh...I dunno, we're getting there."

"Long-lost, illegitimate daughter. So...we're getting there, too."

Kevin seemed to relax at this bit of information, sighing heavily in relief, as though somehow she'd just uttered magic words. "Oh, man. Oh, god, you don't know how worried I was..."

"Why?"

"I thought he'd kill me...I mean, dating the boss's daughter, that's serious violation territory, y'know? But man, if you're not that close, that's a load off my--"

"Whoa, mister, back it up!" Emily might have thought to move further away from Kevin in this moment, but something compelled her to pull herself even closer to him, causing the fear to resurface in him, his body visibly tensing. "First of all, who said anything about _dating_?"

"I, uh...I just meant...I..."

"And second of all, Russell and I might be new to this whole father-daughter thing, but buster, he means business. Don't you think for a minute that he won't put you through the ringer if you pull a wrong move, so just..." She sighed out, bristling in annoyance, but unable to complete her thought.

Then, without another word, Emily pulled the cat ears from her head...and placed them atop Kevin's.

Kevin stared for some time at Emily, attempting to react to the rather odd assault. When finally he opened his mouth, prepared to speak, she beat him to the punch.

"You didn't have a costume. Can't go out on Halloween without a costume."

And although he tried to resist, although he wanted nothing more than to dash madly now from the trap he had placed himself quite willingly within, he smiled, and found her smiling back.

The cab pulled to a stop; upon Emily's exit, the cab driver spoke to Kevin as he handed over money. "Boss's daughter?"

"Yeah, man."

"Wearin' kitty ears."

"You know how it is."

"Whatever. Go get her, tiger."

 

* * *

 

Jen straightened the red wig atop her head and gave her reflection in the bedroom mirror a large grin. Yeah...she looked good. Adam seemed to agree, wrapping arms about her from behind.

"Man, Fred and Daphne just might make a baby in the Mystery Machine tonight. Good thing I bummed some stuff off of Shaggy and Scooby, this is gonna be one _tight_ Halloween."

Jen scoffed, shoving Adam away. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, honey, did you see how those guys ate? They had the munchies _all_ the time."

"No...Adam, you aren't cleared to use your equipment for weeks, nobody's making a baby. Fix your ascot, I'll go find you a wig."

As Adam went about fixing himself in the mirror, Jen disappeared into the bedroom. "Hey, honey, how come you have all these wigs, anyway? Did you go through a wig phase, or something?"

"Something like that," she called back before returning with a short blonde piece. "Maybe we didn't think this through...between your face still being all rashy, the wig, tacky bell-bottoms, you look--"

"Great! I look great!"

Jen sighed, patting down the snug-fitted purple dress she wore. "Well, at least I look hot."

From the living room came a booming, "Hey!! Where are you guys!?"

"Oh!" Jen beamed excitedly. "It's Jeff and Audrey, come on."

Having made their way to the living room, Adam and Jen did prompt double takes at the sight of the Binghams, followed by an awkward turnabout on the part of Jen.

She turned back finally, but shielded her eyes. "What, did you lose part of your costume?"

She had addressed Jeff, who stood embellished in leopard printed loincloth covering...not nearly enough, a simple strap across his chest and over one shoulder the only thing holding that sucker in place.

"What are you guys supposed to be?" asked Adam.

Audrey spoke up, patting down her matching ensemble, ensuring nothing was visible that shouldn't be. "We're Tarzan and Jane...I guess." There seemed a distinct lack of enthusiasm in this proclamation. "At least mine leaves a little to the imagination. Jeff waited too long to buy costumes, it was either this, or one of us got to be the tail end of a horse. Wouldn't have been much of a costume, I'm already going to this party with an ass."

"Pregnancy hormones talking," assured Jeff.

"Idiot husband talking," corrected Audrey.

"Oh, come on, can't be that bad." Jen made her way to Audrey, indicating her baby bump. "Looks like somebody's been getting busy in the jungle."

"She's just pissed because she knows she's gonna lose the bet." All eyes were suddenly on Jeff, as if he'd broken fine China with total lack of regard right in front of their faces. "Oh come on, we all know what's going on."

Adam rose a hand slowly. "I...still don't get what's happening here, what...what are we betting on? I heard something about horses...?"

Jen turned to Adam with a sigh. "They have the sex of the baby stashed away in an envelope somewhere and they're trying to get the other to break first and open the envelope for $100."

Ah, but the crucial piece of information Jen was unaware of: Jeff and Audrey had both already looked without the other knowing, they both knew the sex of their child, and the game now? Don't let the other know how much they sucked at life. Secondary goal: Get the other to break first. They both really already knew how much they sucked, anyway.

Adam seemed to be contemplating this scenario a bit too long. Then, finally, his summation of the situation was revealed as thus: "Huh. Yeah, sounds like you guys really just wanna look at the results but your desire for competition with one another is manifesting in really unhealthy ways. If you're already using your unborn child as a manipulation device, I'd maybe just take a step back and do some self-examination before the kid's born, y'know, but hey, what do I know?" He grinned, chuckled lightly. "My penis is in a sling, ain't nobody makin' a baby with that thing."

All eyes fell on Adam in stunned silence. He nodded back with a gentle smile before turning with a light gasp.

"Oh! Be right back, forgot my flashlight. Can't hunt ghosts without a flashlight! It gets dark in those swamps. Whooooooo!"

 

* * *

 

Batman and Robin were walking down the hall. Adam West and Burt Ward they were not, and Timmy was growing more than slightly irritated at Russell's insistence on muttering "Bang!" and "Pow!", thrusting a hand against his mouth by the time they'd reached their neighbors door.

Timmy gave himself a final look over. "I suppose the whole comic book pandemonium never quite caught up to me, I was always so involved with academia...I don't look a touch ridiculous?"

"Nah, it's your color, man, you look great."

"My color? Red, green, yellow, I look as through a box of Crayolas exploded all over me."

"I wouldn't mind exploding all--"

"No."

Russell sighed in irritation. "Whatever." He pulled an item from his belt, excitedly. "See my Batarang?!"

"What?"

"My Bata-- never mind, you're uncultured."

"All I know is these tights are riding up in all the wrong places."

"I wouldn't mind riding up in all the wrong--"

"Russell!!"

Russell's eyes practically rolled back in his head as he set about mocking Timmy. "Neh, neh, neh, 'Russell! I hate when you do that, eeeee!', totally sounds like you, right? Did I nail it? Like I'm gonna nail you later, even though you totally hate me and everything I say?"

Timmy stared wide-eyed at Russell; now, this might have gone one of several ways. Timmy might have responded in the expected manner, either with dismissive acceptance that this was the life he was fated to, a life of eternal torture. He might have fought back with his own brand of sarcasm, a bit of tit-for-tat. But no, not this evening. This evening, Timmy snorted. He laughed, head falling against Russell's shoulder in a most affectionate manner. And Russell, taken aback at this response, but not at all displeased, patted the back of his sweet Robin, as if perhaps he needed comforted in this moment.

Perhaps he'd lost his mind.

When at last the couple made their way inside, they were greeted warmly by a smiling Jackie. "Hey, fellas! Food to the left, drinks to the right, mingle, mingle! Where's that hubby of mine, I know I saw him somewhere..." Quite abruptly, he pulled Timmy away by an arm. "Timir, I want you to meet somebody. Oh, my god, what a coincidence, we both snagged a bat tonight. BRADLEY, front and center!"

And there appeared Brad...dressed as a much more modern Batman, and chuckling at the sight of Russell.

"That is Russell Dunbar under there?"

"Brad. Hey, thanks for the invite."

"The invite you coerced, but yeah, you're welcome. Diggin' the costume, check us out man, kind of a generational thing."

"Yeah, back atcha. Except y'know, uh...Batman isn't black."

Brad pulled back only slightly at the remark. "You've never heard of the Dark Knight?"

"Good one."

"Take a look at Indian Boy Wonder over there..." Brad gestured towards Timmy, standing with Jackie and looking only slightly uncomfortable with over-enthusiastic introductions.

"What's your point?" Huh. Funny how irritating those words had been coming from somebody else. Why had that bugged him...just a little...?

"No, nothing. Just, for somebody in your position, you're head's kinda in the sand..."

Russell held himself apprehensive. "Define 'my position?'"

"Seriously, Russell, I've gotta lay this out for you? Have you looked in the mirror lately, you wanna go down the check list, here? You're in an interracial, May/December, same-sex marriage and you're gonna stand here stoppin' cars because Batman ain't black?"

"Hey, whoa, back it up here, DECEMBER?! Did you seriously just call me DECEMBER?!"

Brad groaned out lightly, realizing instantly how little he should be surprised. "Okay fine, November?"

Russell grumbled in apprehension.

"September, how's that do ya?"

"I-iii...."

"Not putting you in the summer, you can forget it."

 

* * *

 

It was the first drug shop Adam had spotted between their apartment building and their destination. The group had allowed him to stop their cab, begrudgingly, and had even followed him into the store after ten minutes of waiting.

The hell was taking him so long?

"They don't have my shade," he said, kneeling before a row of off-brand cosmetics.

"Just grab this one and let's go!" urged Jen.

"Oh, come on, do I look like an 'Ivory' to you?"

"You look like a moron! Nobody's gonna care about your face, stop acting like such a big baby about this."

In the next aisle over, the Binghams stood staring at a row of pink and blue baby accessories. They had to kill time, somehow...why not utilize these precious moments to their advantage?

A little leg up on the competition.

"Who knew they sold onesies at the drug store?" said Jeff. He pointed out a pink number and read the words imprinted on the front aloud. "Pretty Like Mommy."

Audrey pointed to the blue onesie to its side. "Handsome Like Daddy."

Somehow, this hadn't had the desired effect. Both Jeff and Audrey had a profound sinking feeling of guilt; they avoided looking at one another, now.

"Guess, uh...guess we'll just...have to buy both," spoke Audrey flatly. "Since, y'know...we don't know...what we're having, and all."

"Yeah!" jumped in Jeff, snatching both onesies quickly. "Yeah, sure. Sure, that's...that's what we need to do. Both onesies, mystery baby in there." And they hurried around the corner towards Jen and Adam, avoiding further conversation.

Glad for the distraction from more important emotional affairs, they glared towards the Rhodes, still knelt upon the floor.

"Having fun?" asked Audrey gruffly. "Seriously, what's the hold up?"

"Adam forgot to cover up his pox face," Jen bemoaned, "he thinks everybody at the party's gonna freak out."

"Ah, c'mon!" Jeff yanked at Adam's arm, hoisting him from the floor. "Seriously, we pulled over for Cover Girl, here?"

Adam, ignoring the nay-sayers surrounding him, reached back down and grabbed his makeup of choice triumphantly. "I believe I'm a Golden Beige, thank you. I'll make my purchase and we'll be on our way."

The big jerks followed Adam to the counter, where he made his...uh...

Where he failed to find any means with which to pay for his purchase.

"Hey, uh, honey, I can't find my wallet, I think I left it at home..."

"Why did you leave your wallet at home?"

"These pants are super tight, ain't nothing fittin' in these puppies. I do have this..." From his belt he detached a small flashlight.

"Why, yes," said Jeff. "Pay the man in light..."

Adam turned to Jen. "Where's your purse?"

"None of my bags matched my outfit."

The Binghams stood in silent contemplation, coming to terms with the audacity of the revelation before them.

"So you guys..." Jeff let off an indignant laugh of disbelief. "You're leechin' off our cab fare, and now we're supposed to buy drug store makeup for Mystery Inc.?"

Jen shrugged with an apologetic smile. "Sorry..."

"You owe me." Jeff patted all about his barely covered nether regions; his face pulled in confusion. "Uhh...hey, Audrey, did I give you my wallet? Wow, those...are words I just said."

"Oh, yeah, it's in my purse."

"Which...is...where?"

"It's..." Audrey froze in realization. "In the cab, oh...my god!" She ran to the front door of the shop in panic. She peered out she door of the shop only to find... "The cab's gone!"

Stranded. Moneyless. In stupid costumes.

Yaaaay.

 

* * *

 

Russell had spotted a familiar figure not long after entering the room. He'd resisted her, finding her presence slightly discomforting, their last meeting having resulted in something of a revelation, a coming out, if you will.

Then again, he barely knew anyone at this party, and he had come to realize that these things weren't nearly so entertaining sans his once-usual beat of hitting up random women. He was bored. Let's go talk to the only people in the room he recognized at all.

"Hey..."

"Think I recognize the voice...take off the stupid bat ears..."

"A superhero never reveals his secret identity. Wanna see my Batarang? If you know what I mean..."

"Yeah, it's you. Holy crow, get a load of Super Sleaze!"

"Brenda. Showing off the goods tonight." Sure enough; a daring look for Brenda, perhaps, touch of the sexy kitty? Low cut top, pleather hugging all the right places? Intriguing. "Y'know, I'm willing to overlook that whole lesbian mess for a few hours if you are."

"Uh-huh. So, how's Timmy's penis?"

Russell popped his lips, sizing up his opponent. He drew a quick retreat. "Timmy's... Good, it's..." He coughed. "Real good, so what are you doing here? You're in with Brad?"

"Yeah, funny thing about that. We were both attending a Gay Agenda meeting, recently...did you not get your invite, yet? Well, we realized we both know Jeff, and Jackie enjoys my kabobs, so..."

"Okay, I'm pretty sure you made up parts of that story."

"Scout's honor."

"They let your kind in Scouts?"

"Where's your smarter half? Does he look as ridiculous as you?"

Brenda's answer came post-haste in the form of a grimacing, grumbling Timmy. He scarcely noticed her presence, focusing all attentions instead on the cause of his discontent.

"I'll have you know I'm five minutes from going home and stripping down to nothing. Here, drink this." Timmy shoved a glass of something undisclosed in Russell's face, taking a large drink from a second; he turned sharply only at the sound of Brenda's snicker.

"Think you could've skipped dressing like idiots and pouring liquor down his throat, he'd have gone straight to the stripping if you'd asked nicely."

Timmy's demeanor changed all at once at the sight of Brenda; all smiles and pleasantries, topped with a half-hug.

"Well hey, that answers my question," said Brenda.

"What question was that?"

"You both look ridiculous." She pulled up Timmy's cape, giving a small wink. "Think you pull off the tights better."

Russell wove a finger. "Watch it."

"Oh, yeah," snarked Brenda. "Totally switching teams for your husband's legs." Then, in whispered confidence to Timmy: "I might, though."

Timmy chuckled through a smile, raising his glass.

"Ugggh." Russell rolled eyes and sighed heavily. "Whatever, who here _isn't_ lame?" And he began his slow journey away from a slightly uncomfortable reunion.

Timmy watched him go before returning to Brenda. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For...you know, the last time we met. Audrey's little photo shoot...the closet..."

"Oh, pft...no, hey, that was ages ago. So how are you guys? Still 'you guys,' obviously."

"Oh, yes, of course, rock solid."

"Dunno how you do it, Timmy."

Timmy shrugged, sloshing his glass of probably-wine, observing the liquid move. "How does anyone fall in love...how does anyone _stay_ in love? These are the real mysteries."

"How much have you had to drink?"

Timmy looked back to Brenda with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "Uhm...a bit, why do you ask?"

 

* * *

 

Russell was practically amazed at his newfound abilities of sexual suppression. This party was full of more tit and tail than you could shake a stick at, skimpy costumes out (and up) the wazoo. And while his body had attempted to respond as it always had, there'd been slightly less inclination to do so. Was he growing blind to the booty?

Something was shifting in his brain. Because he knew, for all the women he wouldn't be bedding tonight, there was a man who'd chosen to humiliate himself in ill-fitting tights and itchy spandex, all for Russell's fleeting emotional benefit.

Why did _that_ turn him on more than a room full of beautiful women? How could it? Russell turned to where his Robin stood talking to the lesbian bar-hop and found his husband turn towards him with a smile, as though he knew he'd be looking at him, as though he could have sensed such a thing.

Hell, he was cute. Yeah...maybe they should have stayed home tonight...

"You look like just the hero I need."

Russell flipped towards the source of the voice. He found before him a women dressed in a tattered white evening gown, cut low. The rest of her pale white as well, ghostly so, and chestnut hair all array. She looked rather dead, at that.

"Hey. Killer costume."

She stared at him. She stared practically through him, expressionless...

"Before you get any big ideas, I know the Dunbar charm is a real magnet but uh, I'm here with somebody, so..."

She had snatched him by an arm and dragged him forcefully away before he could say anymore. Russell peered back towards Timmy in desperation, but he'd already set his sights back on Brenda, chatting carelessly away.

Russell had already been pulled like a little lost puppy halfway across the room, attentions focused elsewhere as he pled wordlessly with his mankeeper, when he turned to ghost woman, tearing himself from her grasps.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing!"

She continued to give him the same blank stare, with large, practically glowing eyes, a distant look on her face.

"Are you baked or something?"

"You can help me."

"Lady, I've been there, summer of '97 I got slipped something, put my libido in a tailspin. I know you're struggling. But I told you, I'm here with--"

"You think a great deal about sex."

"Uh..."

"Sex is for the living."

Russell joined the ghost woman now in her deathly staring, for this statement had come across more than a touch ominous, and his only consolation seemed the room full of other living, breathing souls surrounding them.

That's when Russell realized something.

They were no longer in the center of the room. They were pressed neatly up against a wall, the ghost woman having inched nearer and nearer to Russell. Russell having inched further and further backwards, until he hit with a _bam_ and held his breath, voicing only a soft, nervous laugh.

And this woman, it seemed, knew a secret.

For a moment later, she had pushed past Russell, opening the door hidden nearly flush behind his back, sending him hurdling to the floor, and out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Emily really should have known better. She'd heard the word "club," she'd agreed to his choice of venue, knowing next to nothing of the man or his tastes. And now panic had begun to set in. She'd blindly trusted Kevin, knowing only of the naturally inviting energy he exuded, and his connection to Russell seemed somehow a safety net.

But this club was loud, dark, and smelled of alcohol and sweat. This wasn't her scene...what was she doing here? Her scene was...what? What was her 'scene'? Libraries, museums, oh god she was crazy lame, play it cool now, Emily, he likes you, _just pretend you belong here_.

Why was she trying so hard impress somebody she clearly had nothing in common with?

Was this guy safe...really? She turned to him where they sat at the bar, cat ears still placed slightly askew atop his head. Cute. They'd attempted conversation for awhile but had fallen now into an uncomfortable silence, both tapping the sides of their glasses, searching for words. She drank a Coke; he drank a beer.

Emily reached for the phone in her pocket. "Oh, excuse me, I have a text message, I'll be just a second..." She had no incoming message. Instead, she sent one.

 

> Emily: 411 on Kevin
> 
> Timmy: Why are you asking about Kevin?
> 
> Emily: I'm out with him right now. Don't tell Russell.

Timmy appeared to be typing for a long time...long enough to concern Emily, her heart racing, as though he were about to tell her some horrific revelation about the man to her side, and then...

 

> Timmy: OMG

And no more.

And Kevin's phone rang.

Emily looked to Kevin, eyes wide as he reached for his phone. He looked to the caller ID, face pulling in confusion.

"I'm sorry!" she rushed, whipping a hand over her mouth, praying her cheeks were not presently turning deep crimson.

He answered with a meek voice, as if preparing himself for a lecture. "Hey, Timmy."

"What on earth are you doing, are you trying to get yourself fired...or better yet, killed? Do you have any idea who you're with right now?!"

"Yeah, I, uh...I kinda got the gist, man."

"What are your intentions with Emily?"

"Dude, you...you sound like _you're_ the dad right now, what's the deal?"

"Well, in a sense, I am. Now, you listen here, if you think for one moment you're going to hurt that girl--"

Emily's hands had both proceeded to cover her face, but she cleared her mouth now, just enough to speak. "I made a mistake."

Kevin spoke away from the phone. "He's defending your honor."

"I forget sometimes he's my step-dad."

"You've got a weird family, Emily."

 

* * *

 

Russell had tumbled into the room only moments earlier, and found himself now unraveling his cape to find himself in a dimly lit bedroom. He stood, fumbling, breath heavy and confused.

"What the hell?!"

"Bloody Mary."

He flipped to face the source of the voice.

The ghost woman.

"You can call me Bloody Mary." She walked a slow, wide circle around him on light feet, practically floating.

"...Why are you doing this, Mary?"

"I am a lover scorned. I have died here. He killed me. And so... I shall kill him."

"Kill who...?"

She stopped just in front of him. She held out a hand, drifting closer and closer to his face, and then lingering.

She appeared to be lost again.

Should he run now? Where would he run to? Why did Brad and Jackie's place have _secret doors_ , their place didn't have secret doors, what the hell was happening?!

She posed a question. "Who have you come with to this place, today?"

"I'm...I'm married."

"Oh..." For once the ghost woman showed a hint of emotion, head tilting down in shame. "Far be it for me to bestow the same betrayal upon another woman the likes of which I myself have felt the sting."

"A-a dude, I'm married to a dude."

Her head shot back up, eyes glowing, teeth gnashing in anger. "Death to all men!!" She grabbed Russell firmly by the head, leg now straddling his side, and drew him to her, placing her mouth to his with a deep, rage-filled heat.

It took Russell a mere moment to register what was happening. And once he had, body full of shock in place of earnest lust, he drew himself free, in nothing short of a dead panic.

"What the hell, lady!!"

She appeared confused by the denial, but a moment later laughed it off in a most wicked way, the low cackle sending a chill down Russell's spine.

"You could have all of this," she said, motioning up and down the length of her body, hands resting gently on a pair of heaving breasts accentuated with a tinge of what appeared to be blood.

Enticing.

"Yeah, I..." A deep breath. Steady. "Don't want all of that, so keep moving."

"Wow." She nearly broke, this ghost woman, demeanor surprisingly casual, as if she'd been putting on an act for his benefit this entire time. "You really are gay."

"Yes!" Russell saw his out, standing tall and self-assured. "Gay, totally gay and you're creepy as hell so there's no way this is happening, huh?" He found himself relaxing, a bit too prideful in his denial. He walked nonchalantly to the center of the room, leaning against what he shortly came to realize was a bedpost...and pulled his hand away, tucking it under his arm with a smile. "Boy oh boy, would _love_ to do things in this bed right now with other men, no women, _hate_ women. Wanna do gay things. With my husband. Just my husband, married man, did I mention that?"

She looked him up and down, taking note of his obvious discomfort in this present situation. And those large, intense eyes bore back into Russell. "I can read men like an ever-open book, and you've left your pages wide for me to see."

"Wh...what?"

"Doth protest too much. You're a scoundrel and a cad. You want this body, you're the same as any other man...why do you resist? No man can be so good..."

"Yeah, well..."

"Why is this so complicated?! All I wish to do is rip out the hearts of men, for this I should be punished?!"

"Russell?" A new voice. Both Russell and Bloody Mary turned towards a door, Russell bolting towards it, the ghost woman bolting in the opposite direction.

And Timmy, upon entering the room, appeared quite unprepared for the emotional assault that was to come. Russell grabbed him quite firmly, forcing him inside in a death-grip of a hug. When at last he had let him go, he turned towards an empty room, pointing.

"A-ha!! I told you I had a--" But she was gone.

Timmy could voice nothing but a hollow, "Uhhmm..." for he was already a touch inebriated this evening and his brain was working to catch up.

"The ghost lady, Bloody Mary!!"

"You do look as if you've seen a ghost...why are you in here? I've been looking for you, this apartment has a most peculiar layout..." It was now that Timmy made clear the bottle of wine he held, taking a swig quite casually as he looked about the room.

"I'm telling you, it was this ghost chick, she took me through the wall and made a pass at me, something about death to all men..."

"You're telling me a woman came back from the dead and the first man she chose to throw herself at was you?" Timmy walked past Russell with a low chuckle.

"Dude! I'm serious, this..." Russell grabbed Timmy by the shoulders, flipping him back around. "It really happened, she forced me in here, she kissed me, she said she wants to rip out men's hearts or something, you might have just saved my life!"

Timmy, appearing far too calm given the circumstances, stated simply: "You're delirious."

Russell nearly shook the man. "Timmy!!"

Timmy found a strange pleading in Russell's eyes, one of fear and just a hint of lust.

(The opposite of many a night spent under Timmy's domination, where the look of lust surpassed the hint of fear...but that was quite beside the point, of course, and Timmy's mind was not at all drifting to thoughts of...)

"Timmy!!"

"What? Oh, the woman, she...wait, you said she kissed you?"

"Are you...have you been drinking?" Russell snatched the bottle from Timmy's hand, finding the liquid content far too low. "Dude..."

"Well, I...you said this woman made a pass at you...she _kissed_ you? Where?"

"Right here, in this room, you just missed her!"

"No, I meant--"

The men were startled abruptly by the sound of screaming; a man and a woman, and coming from the other side of the room...a hallway leading out, they came to find, dashing madly in the direction of the voices, halting just outside the exit of the room. They spoke in hushed whispers.

"That sounds like her, that's the chick!"

"Who is she talking to?"

"I don't know..."

Timmy peered down the hall, unable to find the source of the voices. "How big is this place? Do you think they're paying more in rent than we are?"

"We don't have any secret bedrooms..." Russell grumbled. "Barely fit all our crap into one place."

"Do you suppose they leased two apartments and tore down a wall?"

"I dunno, how crazy are these people?"

"Brad and Jackie? They seem normal enough."

Russell jumped at a loud shriek. "We should really be paying attention to..."

"The scuffle down the hall, yes."

But everything had gone quiet, now; too quiet, mere moments earlier having heard a great deal of heated commotion between Bloody Mary and some mystery man. And so the two consulted silently with one another for a moment. Russell relinquished Timmy's wine bottle to the floor, setting Timmy onto a minimal amount of fussing, before the men set about treading lightly, surreptitiously down the hall, knowing not what they would find. They held onto one another's arms, both growing ever more nervous at the ominous silence accompanying them down the hall until finally their legs forced them to stop, having run into an object upon the ground.

Russell and Timmy looked first to one another, holding breath. Then, slowly, verrry slowly, they turned their heads down to find...

"Oh, shit!!" Russell let loose of Timmy, jumping back from the body.

Timmy held steady, examining the man upon the floor, but his voice rose just a touch in pitch. "Russell...calm...calm down..."

"Dude, she said she was gonna kill somebody! Something a-about being a scorned...a scorned lover, she axed this guy!"

"He's probably just...unconscious, o-or--"

"He's covered in blood!!"

Upon further examination Timmy saw red covering the poor man's torso, and took a step back; his breath grew visibly hard in his chest, and still he maintained composure as best he could to counter Russell's lack of ease. "He's...in costume, likely...a vampire, prop blood, he...can't be..."

"No...! No...! She was psycho, man, what the hell, we're witnesses to _murder_!!" Russell began to hyperventilate, hands flailing rapidly in a dead panic.

"Please, Russell, you have to calm down!!" Timmy looked all about, and, finding no other chance of resolution, slapped Russell firm across the face.

Russell, stunned speechless, glared at Timmy briefly; and then, having no better means of retaliation, slapped him straight back.

So there they both stood, hard breaths and wide eyes, scarcely recalling where they were or why they'd forced the stings of pain that had awoken them both in this moment. Yes, this had been something of a mistake, as they grabbed one another thereafter and met mouths in a fit of passion, thinking nothing more of the matter at hand.

Until, that is, Russell's foot chanced brush against the man upon the floor, and he pulled his tongue from its familiar home in Timmy's mouth, crying desperately, "Oh, my god, what are we doing, there's a dead dude on the floor!!"

Timmy nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes, uhm...uhm, ch-check his pulse, have we checked his pulse?"

Russell fell to the floor, placing fingers upon the man. "Nooo pulse..."

"Ohhh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god."

"What do we do?!"

"We...we go, and...and tell somebody, we have to..."

Russell heard a thump, and turned to find Timmy fallen, passed out upon the floor.

 

* * *

 

Jeff and Audrey had split the trail from the kids a few minutes earlier, vowing to meet up again if they found anybody; pick-pocketing on Halloween night in the middle of nowhere dressed in practically nothing, this was fun. The group had spotted what appeared to be a small park on the opposite end of the street, and it appeared a better option than standing on the corner dressed as...well, whatever they were dressed as, waiting to be picked up by whatever types were willing to pick them up on Halloween night in New York City...they'd make it worth their while, surely, but Jeff wasn't sure he was ready for that kind of a career move.

They were already late for this stupid party they didn't really want to go to. They were too busy with a stupid bet they couldn't remember the rules of, sitting on a secret that wasn't even a secret. Something to do with babies and both of them being stubborn asses, so what else was new, and--

There came a breeze; Jeff caught a glimpse of Audrey shivering. They were painfully underdressed for the end of October, and he held an arm around her now. She smiled up at him.

And together, they saw somebody coming down the other end of the path...

 

* * *

 

The club sucked. Kevin had realized shortly after the fiasco that was Timmy's phone call that he and Emily were in the wrong place, and needed to breathe...to get to really know one another someplace a bit more secluded.

They chose the park. Just a little place nearby that Emily knew, better than music and madness. They were walking a slow journey down a path, talking leisurely now that they could really hear one another without the intrusion of a hundred other voices.

"But he really doesn't mean to come across that way," Emily insisted. "Timmy is a little...high strung."

"You wanna know how we met? They were sleeping together at work."

"What?!" Her nose scrunched in confusion...too cute, she was too cute, he nearly lost his train of thought.

"Ahh...no, uhm, in his office, literally asleep. I caught on later that they'd gotten stoned the night before--"

"No! What?"

"Yeah, passed out high...on marijuana...on your father's office floor. I'm in solid, now, he keeps things cool between me and Russell, so I mean, this...? This thing that's happening right now? That's why. Your dad can't keep an assistant to save his life, he is the world's worst boss, and frankly the last thing I need is that guy for a father-in-law, but..."

"Who-o-oa, back the train up!" Emily's feet came to a grinding halt.

It seemed Kevin had realized straight away his blunder, for his face had pulled quite profoundly and the breath he pulled in created a long, slow hiss. He was in for another lecture.

"You're talking marriage, I don't even know your last name!"

"I...was getting to that!"

She nodded rapidly. "Oh, were you, you were getting to that? You seem so fixated on the fact that I have Russell Dunbar for a father that you can't relax for five minutes and realize that you're here with me right now! Do you see Russell, anywhere?"

Kevin made a point of barely turning his head at all...no. No, of course he wasn't there. It didn't stop every nerve in his body from rapid firing, but for all intents and purposes, he could say with very little reasonable doubt: "No."

"Okay! Then hello, my name is Emily Swanson--"

"Not Dunbar?"

"No! Illegitimate daughter, we just met, _keep up_!"

"Stoker."

"...What?"

"Kevin Stoker."

And all the tension fell from Emily, all at once. She smiled that warm smile that so drew Kevin in...and for a moment he felt as if he might grow quite foolhardy. So what if they'd just met? Hell, he knew her last name now...

_Pick her up, whip her around like they do in the movies, tell you you've just met her but you've fallen madly in love with her, kiss her on the lips and say--_

"Oh, thank god we found somebody, we are in _desperate_ need of money."

Kevin and Emily turned to face the Binghams, who, despite looking quite relieved, set Emily about in instant panic.

Perhaps it had been the request for money in the middle of the night; perhaps she was already on edge, this evening, and Jeff was quite a harrowing character, barely visible and barely dressed.

She screamed. A rather high-pitched scream, leaving everyone around her startlingly confused. "I have pepper spray!!" She began rummaging through her purse. "S-somewhere!"

"Real effective," said Kevin, far too relaxed for Emily's liking. "By the time you spray Prehistoric Man he's already robbed us blind, good going."

Emily stopped rummaging long enough to give Kevin a cross glare. "I don't see you trying to stop them, we're being held up by a team of costumed criminals and the best you can do is stand there making fun of me, just great!"

"Hey, Emily..."

"Timmy was right, I should have left you back at that club, now I'm gonna get robbed in the middle of this park, in the middle of the night..."

"EMILY! I know these guys!"

"And I didn't even get a second date out of it...wait, what did you say?"

"I mean, acquainted...not intimately...I used to deliver their pizzas."

Jeff snapped his fingers, pointing in excited recognition. "Kevin, buddy! They've got some new guy on your beat now, always late with the pies...I mean, we get free pizza out of it, but we miss your face, where'd ya go?"

Audrey smiled affectionately. "Sure kept you busy for awhile, there. Did we pay your way through college, or what?" Then, with a sly nudge: "Who's your lady friend?"

"Heh..." He avoided the question with a compliment. "You look great, Mrs. Bingham, I see the baby's coming right along. Pizza does a body good, huh? But, uh...I'm using my degree now, graduated from pizza. Assistant to a top executive, you know how it goes."

The Binghams nodded, quite impressed at this announcement, until...

"There you guys are!!" Adam and Jen came jogging up the path. "No luck, man, not another living soul in this park."

"We got a live one," Jeff indicated.

Adam appeared quite pleased at the sight of-- "Kevin! Dude, what are you doing here? What are the chances of that?"

Adam held out his ever-trusty flashlight, shining it first on Kevin's face, then on each person before him in succession, forcing everyone to shield their eyes. "Heh...bet you guy's aren't makin' fun of this little baby now, huh?"

"You two know each other?" asked Audrey, getting back to the point.

"Oh. Of course we do. This is Russell's assistant."

Near riotous laughter emerged from both Tarzan and Jane. Silent onlookers in the still of the night witnessed their great amusement at Kevin's expense.

"You left pizza for Russell!" managed Audrey at last.

"Top executive," said Jeff, recovering with a deep breath. "Ah boy, that was great stuff, right there."

"Okay, very...very funny, yeah. Best date of my life, out with the boss's daughter, angry calls from the husband, let's just run into everybody he's ever known while we're at it, I swear to god if I see Russell tonight I'm just gonna--"

"Do what?" asked Emily, a touch sternly.

"Tell...tell him he has a lovely daughter."

Jen was the first to pick up on the pertinent details of this exchange, rushing to the front of the group. "Wait, are you Emily?!"

Emily smiled small and soft. "Oh, ah...yes?"

"Oh my gosh, we've heard so much about you! This isn't exactly how I thought we'd meet..."

"Wait, who?" asked Adam.

She turned back to the group, excited. "Russell's daughter, Emily!"

And suddenly Emily was being glomped upon by the likes of Jen, Adam, and Audrey. Kevin made his way slowly over to Jeff, who suddenly felt the safest party on this trail.

"Gonna go out on a limb, here," said Jeff.

"Yeah...?"

"You're in way over your head."

"How well do you all know Russell and Timmy?" Kevin asked hopefully. Maybe not very well. Maybe they barely ever spoke.

"Russell's gonna know by tomorrow that you were out with this girl."

Kevin moaned out long and low, pressing his face to his hands.

"Now, get us a cab, New Timmy, we're late for a party."

 

* * *

 

Upon finding his way back out of the winding maze of Brad and Jackie's hidden hallways...seriously, why wasn't their apartment anything like this?!...he was relieved to find the only three people he knew at this damned party congregated in one convenient cluster.

"Timmy's passed out on the floor next to a dead body!"

They were less than responsive to what Russell clearly deemed an emergency; as a matter of fact, Russell found that Brad, Jackie, and Brenda did little more than laugh dismissively in his face.

"Passed out next to a dead body?" Brenda snorted. "Is that any different from his marriage to you?"

"First of all...ow, who pushed your bitch button? And second of all, this is SERIOUS, what's wrong with everybody?! He didn't believe me either until he _saw a body_!"

Jackie wove Russell down with a chuckle. "Thank you for the compliment, I did go all out on the decorations this year. One of my skeletons must have fallen, you boys mistook it for a corpse, could happen to anybody."

Russell smiled with a laugh. "Oh. Oh, yeah, super job on the decor there, real great, just wondering, uhm..." He grabbed Jackie by the collar, shaking. "Do plastic skeletons bleed?!"

Brad pulled Russell from his husband. "Hey, whoa whoa, chill out! Chill. Okay, we're listening. Now, where's Timmy?"

 

* * *

 

"No, no, no, this can't be happening!"

They'd found Timmy. Right where he'd left him, passed out on the floor.

But the body was gone.

"How much have you had to drink?" asked Brad.

"I'm not the one who's been drinking," said Russell as he went to work trying to revive Timmy. He grabbed him by the arms, shaking him harder and harder, but to no avail.

"Hey!" Brenda reached for Russell, curtailing the jostling. "What, are you trying to shake his brain loose, cut it out, you can't wake him up that way!"

Russell stood back up, gazing down on a limp Timmy. "This is all the ghost chick's fault."

"Ghost chick?" queried Brad.

"I tried to stop her, told her I was married, but she kept pushing it, ghost chicks are _horny_."

"Let me get this straight," said Jackie. "Some woman came back from the dead and out of all the men at this party she tried to throw herself at _you_?" Upon Russell's narrow-eyed glare he fine-tuned the insult. "I mean, look at me, _I'd_ have a better chance."

"Okay, I get it..."

"I could leave here, go straight to a Pride rally, still land your ghost chick."

"Yeah, I got it!" Russell turned back to Timmy on the floor, collapsing to his knees. "I've gotta wake him up."

Everyone was losing patience. Brad shook his head. "C'mon, what are you gonna do? We'll just leave him here, he'll wake up on his own, he'll...oh."

Russell grabbed Timmy by the head, firmly, and kissed him. Deeply, tongue in mouth, just work the tongue. It was a bit like kissing a corpse, he wagered...but he knew it would work. Just...a little...longer...

There we go. To the surprise of somewhat sickened onlookers, Timmy's arms wrapped behind Russell's back, pulling him instinctively deeper. And then came the soft moaning. He, uh...he was awake. Clearly.

"We should go," said Brenda.

"I'm repulsed," said Jackie, "yet...strangely fascinated." He found himself unable to remove his eyes from the scene on the floor.

"Okay," said Brad, "so I've got Batman and Robin making out on my floor, Batman claims there's a ghost woman wandering around and somehow this all has something to do with a dead body that gets up and walks away all on its own." He turned away with a sigh. "Last party I ever invite the Dunbar-Patels to, I ain't kidding this time."

 

* * *

 

Kevin and Emily watched as the Binghams and the Rhodes left the cab, making a straight line for Russell's apartment building...funny.

"This is where we started," noted Kevin as the cab took off.

"Yeah, I guess so," said Emily. "Not much of a first date."

"So this _was_ a date? And, uh...first implies there's going to be more, so...just to make this perfectly clear, I mean, first you say we're not dating, then you keep calling this a date, I just...you know...pfffft..."

"Well, there's a fundamental difference between going out on dates and dating."

Kevin held both hands to his face, gathering the strength to continue this conversation. Women. Ugh, _WOMEN_.

Well. Let's just take a shot, man. "Fine. Uh. Since the club was so loud, y'know, didn't get to talk much, and your dad's horde crashed our little moonlit stroll..."

"Tomorrow."

"What?"

"I'm free Tomorrow night, you can pick me up at home. I'll text you the address. Get my number from Timmy. I won't talk to him or Russell, you lay low at work, we should be fine."

It had all been spoken as if in direct order, as if perhaps they were involved in something quite clandestine, both spies in the midst of a secret undercover operation. The next thing he felt was her hand slither upon his leg, though her eyes now faced forward. And he watched crawl upon her face the most coy of smiles; irresistible.

Tomorrow night, then.

 

* * *

 

Russell sat on a plush sofa staring miserably forward, drink in hand. In the other hand he held a mask, a set of bat ears, staring into his alter-ego, contemplating life itself. His aim now was to get drunk. Very, very drunk.

He knew what had happened. He knew that chick had thrown herself at him, he knew that guy had been laying on the floor. He and Timmy had conducted a brief manhunt upon Timmy's revival. Nobody had seemed overtly interested in joining them in this endeavor, and they had come up empty.

They were just _gone_.

"I hate to say it," said Timmy, sitting to Russell's side.

"Say it."

"Perhaps...now, this may be the wine talking, but perhaps what happened here tonight was not...entirely within the realms of...it _may_ have been..."

"She was an _actual_ ghost."

"It sounds stupid when you say it. But then, better she were a ghost. Anybody who attempts intimacy with you will find they've lost the will to live, she merely skipped a step."

"Hey!" Russell nudged Timmy rough against a tighted thigh. "You're one to talk... Mr. Not Dead."

"Can you be sure of that?" He tilted his head down in such a manner as to peer at Russell from the top of his eyes, reaching out one hand in a menacing manner.

Russell let off a soft chuckle, amused yet growing slightly nervous as it grew clear Timmy would not be letting up. "C'mon, Tim, knock it off..."

His hand inched closer to Russell, whose breath caught, Timmy's outstretched fingers all at once grasping him by the neck.

And upon the other side of Russell's neck came Timmy's head, latching fangs, which might have drawn blood if he'd only aimed them to. Russell held Timmy's head to his, falling into laughter.

Brad leaned against the back of the sofa with a curious huff out. "You guys have an apartment down the hall, you know that, right?"

Timmy righted himself as he attempted to piece together a reasonable explanation for his lack of decorum this evening. Nothing, he could reason out nothing. And so, instead, he excused himself from Russell, pulling Brad aside to speak in confidence.

"This evening hasn't gone as planned..."

"Hey, it's cool. Just don't have sex in my living room, and we're good, man."

"No...no, I..."

"Brad!!" Jeff joined the scene, crew in tow. "We tried to make it earlier, we really did, but..." He paused, looking Timmy up and down. "Ridiculous."

Timmy nodded. "Yes, well..." He motioned towards all of Jeff, then gave a grand wave towards the rest of the gang. "Save for Jennifer, of course, lovely as ever."

Jen smiled warmly at Timmy, who smiled back.

"And Audrey, questionable ensemble, but I shan't begrudge a pregnant woman her beauty, you're ever radiant."

Audrey curtseyed, granting an appreciative smile.

"Hey, Tim," shot Adam. "How do I...?"

"No."

Russell had forced himself to join the group by now, and Jeff looked down on Batman and Robin with a slight chuckle. "Excellent. I must remember this." Turning back to Brad, "Listen, we've been trying to get to the party, but Pox Face over here--"

"Adam, my name is Adam!"

No time for explanations, for a moment later came screaming quite riotous from the opposite end of the apartment. All eyes were on the commotion, all party-goers focused now on a couple locked in near fisticuffs.

And Russell grew unfurled, practically shaking; indeed literally shaking his companion, face quite near to Timmy's as he proclaimed in high-pitched excitement: "That's her, Bloody Mary, it's the ghost chick!!"

Brad intervened, pulling Russell aside. "That's the woman you saw?"

"Yeah, man, that's her, she threw herself all over me!"

"Ugh!" Jackie seemed overwhelmingly unimpressed at this revelation. "Mary-Beth, I hired her as an apprentice at the studio, she's _such_ a drama queen. I heard she was a theater major before she switched to fashion...her and that plus one of hers have just been..." He wove a dismissive hand.

Russell and Timmy looked to the couple, then to one another, proclaiming in unison. "Her plus one!"

"That's him, that's the body!" Russell nearly took to pulling out hair in desperation. "Ah, god, I need a stiff drink..." He swerved in search of alcohol; Timmy pulled him back.

"You said he was dead," Timmy stared Russell down in great aggravation. "The man is clearly alive, you said you couldn't find a pulse!"

"What do I look like, a doctor?!"

The Rhodes and Binghams, having just arrived and already thinking better of it, had taken a step back, speaking softly amongst themselves.

"Lovely party," said Jeff, leading the group to a table of hor d'oeuvres.

"What kind of dip do you think this is?" inquired Adam.

"French onion, perhaps." He took a bite. "Delightful."

The women stood to the side; Audrey held her stomach. "I think the baby kicked," she said in total monotone.

"Oh," said Jen with a smile, placing her hand to Audrey's stomach. "That's nice!"

Jeff approached the women, stuffing his face full of dipped chip. "New Timmy left us here without any way to get home, y'know that? Guess we're bummin' off of Old Timmy."

Jen's smile fell into a grimace.

Old Timmy was quite preoccupied at the moment, for it seemed the bickering Dead Couple had made their way towards the Dunbar-Patels.

"This the guy?" asked Dead Man, and in quite an accusatory tone, shoving Russell against the chest.

"Hey, whoa, now," said Brad, attempting to stop a fight before it started, but no good. Jackie pulled him back, foreseeing escalating drama. Let's not harm a perfect face.

A crowd was forming...

"You been hittin' on my woman?"

Russell's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Excuse me?! Nyah, nyah, nyah, I dunno what she's been telling you, but this broad came on to _me_."

Dead Man turned sharply towards Ghost Chick. "You told me he came onto you, Mary-Beth."

Ghost Chick looked to Dead Man with those huge, glowing eyes of hers that so did lure the men. "Well...I..."

Not this time. "Mary-Beth!! This guy?!"

"You cheated on me! What was I supposed to do?!"

"But _this_ guy?!"

Russell threw his hands up. "I get it, I suck, let's move on!"

"It wasn't enough ya had to punch my lights out?! And I woke up covered in that crappy mixed drink ya tossed on me, that red stuff's never coming out, this is my best shirt, too!"

Jackie sniggered from the sidelines. "Oh, honey, if that's your best shirt, I'd hate to see the runner up."

"What the hell ever, Scott, you deserve a lot worse than what I gave you. You're not worth it, no man is worth it, no man is--" Ghost Woman felt a tap upon her shoulder. She turned around to find Timmy staring her square in the eye. "The hell do you want?"

"Excuse me, but...you've caused a great deal of calamity this evening, were you aware?"

"What's it to you?"

"Well, it's just...you see, I'm married to this man. That one, the one in the stupid looking Batman get-up, the one I hear you tried to have your way with this evening, rather against his will, so...just for clarification, this is in fact what happened, yes, not the other way around? You did in fact lay lips upon this man?"

"So what if I did?"

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

And with this Timmy closed in very near the woman in a most threatening manner. So near in fact that a hush fell upon the crowd, so near that Russell felt the need to jump in, to hold back Timmy's arms...just in case.

Timmy's eyes narrowed. His breath heavied. He nearly spat in the woman's face, he had grown so bitterly disgusted at the sight of her. There appeared a touch of fear behind her eyes, and he was satisfied at this. Yes. She...should...be...afraid.

"Don't you ever... _ever_ lay hands upon my man again. Do you hear me, you two-bit trollop?"

"Yeah...whatever. Psycho..."

"Oh, you haven't seen psycho, yet... _bring it_..."

From the sidelines Jen voiced a low, "Whoa..."

"Oh, I know you didn't just step to me, you little...!"

The Ghost Woman attacked. Dead Man held her back, but she yelled and gnawed and kicked towards Timmy, who suddenly did much the same, despite Russell's sudden attempt to pull him back.

So there it was, folks, the battle of the century: Robin vs. Ghost Woman, held back only by Batman and Dead Man, who looked over their flailing partners to one another in a stunned silence.

...What the hell had happened here, tonight?

Russell dragged away a kicking, ever vocal Timmy, all the way to the front door. "Had a great time," yelled out Russell. "Don't call us, we'll call you. Ah, hell, who am I kidding, you're not gonna call." And that was the last anyone saw this evening of Mr.'s Dunbar and Patel.

Brad ushered out Ghost Woman and Dead Man shortly thereafter, once he was quite sure the coast was clear. And all fell quiet briefly at Brad and Jackie's disaster of a party. A moment of relief. Still.

Until at last, Adam broke the horrible silence. "Wow, that was sure something, huh?" He watched as eyes looked to him awkwardly, unsure what else to do. "I mean, man. Who expected any of that? Weeeeird stuff, huh? What a Halloween this has turned out to be. Boy, oh boy. Boooy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy--"

Two voices in unison screamed out in desperation: "IT'S A BOY!!"

Jeff and Audrey both looked to one another slowly, shocked at themselves...what had they just said? Why had they just said it here, now, in the midst of all this chaos, why--

Ah, the hell with it. Audrey smiled at Jeff. Jeff smiled at Audrey. And they went to one another, hugging deeply.

No more secrets.

Adam grinned lovingly; he started a slow clap. And gradually, having no idea what had just taken place or for what purpose they were participating in the gesture, their captive audience began to applaud the Binghams' news. "Congratulations," came a random voice. For what, who knew. Whatever. It had been a strange night.

Brad collapsed to the sofa, tired. Jackie patted him against a shoulder. "There's always next year."

"Uh-uh. Nah. We're moving," said Brad.

 

* * *

 

Timmy had fallen asleep on the living room sofa; Russell had left him there upon coming home, to let off steam. Funny, he'd been the one affronted this evening by a crazed demon woman, yet it had ended with Timmy nearly beating the living daylights out of the woman in question. Timmy had been a touch drunk, of course; he'd regret the ordeal upon awaking.

Their therapy sessions so often revolved around _Russell's_ possessive inclinations. A touch of irony this evening, perhaps, although Russell was rather admiring of Timmy's sudden compulsion to protect his territory. Even if it was the wine talking.

He sat in a chair now, watching his husband as he slept. And despite his better efforts, Russell's thoughts drifted to months before, and a fight over another kiss of another kind.

Russell's first thoughts back then hadn't been to attack ghosts of girlfriends past directly. He'd gone straight for Timmy instead; he'd tried to kill a marriage. But then...Russell had resisted the lips of another, tonight. Timmy had wanted it...he'd wanted Allison. Hadn't he?

Of course, it wasn't really about Allison. It never truly was. It was everything she represented. Insecurities. Fears. Fears of losing something he never thought he could have. Somebody he never thought could ever truly love him.

Damn it, why did his thoughts always drift back to this, why could he _never let this go_?

"Russell?" He was awake now. Sitting up.

"Hey, babe..." Don't look through him. Don't look through him. He's right there, _don't look through him_.

"Ohhh." It was all coming back to him. "Well, that's the last party we'll ever be invited to."

"Heh...yeah."

Timmy stood. He held out a hand. "Tell the truth, am I better than a 'ghost chick', or what?"

"Better if you get outta that stupid costume." He accepted the lift up, and was pleasantly surprised to find Timmy's lips meet his.

As their mouths parted ways, Timmy spoke, hushed and heated. "You can help me out of it." He met Russell's eyes. "Was that part of the childhood fantasy, darling?"

"Uhh...it...it is, now."

Timmy, satisfied at the evident arousal in Russell's voice, turned a sharp circle, leaving him quite alone. As he walked away he assured, "I could have taken her, you know."

"Yeah...yeah, baby, I know." Russell allowed himself a smile and a chuckle. Damn it, he loved that guy.


	5. The Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be ages ago, but I'm dealing with some heavy life issues at the moment. I'm still trudging along and will have new content up as often as I can. Much love. x

Friday's kiss was tender.

Saturday's, hesitant.

Sunday's kiss changed everything.

On Friday morning, post Halloween-night lovemaking, Russell awoke before Timmy, stomach full of butterflies as he watched him sleep. Timmy was soft and beautiful and too good for this world, and Russell placed gentle lips against his brow before sneaking out of bed.

It was too early; he rarely made it out of bed before Timmy, much less to work on time.

So when Russell walked into the office before schedule, bright-eyed and full of pep, leaning against his young assistant's desk with a whimsical sigh out, Kevin looked upon the man most curiously.

"You seem wistful today. What's the occasion?"

"Can't a guy be...wistful?"

"Just a change from yesterday's doom and gloom, is all."

Russell pushed himself from Kevin's desk with a thoughtful hum. "Yeah, well, gimme a few hours to gloom it back up. You're looking kinda wistful yourself over there, what's up?"

"Me? Nah."

"Plus your phone's vibrated about three times since I walked in here...luck out last night, somebody's a little eager?" Russell's hand lurched forward, prompting Kevin to quickly pull back the phone atop his desk. "Yeah, well, watch the personal chit-chat on the clock."

"Yes, sir."

Russell turned towards his office, flipping back around with a clap. "Oh, hey! Thanks for bringing my phone all the back way to my apartment last night, I'd lose that thing somehow even if I glued it to my face, y'know? You didn't have to do that, shows initiative." He gave an approving nod before turning again.

Kevin, thinking this the end of the exchange, looked back to his work. A moment later he found Russell's hand atop his desk, and peered slowly back towards a pair of stone cold eyes.

"You didn't give me that phone."

"No...sir."

"My daughter, Emily. She's the one who gave me back that phone, Kevin."

"Was that...was that your daughter?" Kevin faced a stare so full of ice he shivered in his seat. "Ran into her in the hall on the way to your apartment. She said she knew you, watched her give you back your phone before I left. Lovely girl, good bone structure...runs in the family. The bones."

The lack of blinking on Russell's part was more than just a touch unsettling; finally he pulled back. His laugh was forced, a touch menacing, and he looked away from Kevin as he spoke.

"Y'know, I'm glad that we're starting to...come to an understanding, the two of us."

"So am I, Mr. Dunbar."

"It would be a shame if anything were to jeopardize that. The interview process alone for new assistants...it bores me, Kevin."

"Understood, sir."

"Good, just so we're on the same page." He turned towards his office, light in the step. "Coffee! Heavy on the sugar, I've got a sweet tooth this morning."

"Sure thing."

"Still working on that thing from Wednesday?"

"Yeah, should have it ready this afternoon."

"Great. Oh, and uh...one more thing, Kev?" Russell leaned against his door with a broad, friendly smile.

"Yes, sir?"

"You touch my daughter, I'll break your arms."

 

* * *

 

Timmy felt inexplicably good this morning. He couldn't explain the rush of happiness cascading over him as he walked inside the building housing his office. Perhaps it was the particularly warm start to November; the sun had shone quite bright on him, today.

Or perhaps it was the sacked lunch he held clutched just beside his briefcase. He had been surprised to find Russell already gone upon waking, an unusual role reversal, but Timmy had discovered on the kitchen island a sacked lunch and a note. That was new.

> _You looked hot in those tights. Love you. :) <3 - R_

He stepped way inside the elevator, occupied only by another sharply dressed man...some fellow man of industry, no doubt (he was one of them now, you see, a true man of industry, making his way in the world). Timmy offered the man a single, sophisticated nod as he adjusted his tie, and received back a similar if not disinterested gesture. He pushed the button for his floor, when all at once...

"Hold the door, please!"

Timmy did as instructed, a woman running up on frantic feet. He extended a warm smile, she doing much the same.

"Thank you so much, I'm running late, and--" Her smile fell abruptly. She stood perched halfway inside the elevator, staring now at Timmy; frozen, it seemed.

The other man in the elevator coughed, and not softly. The woman stepped the rest of the way inside, apologizing. She stood on the opposite side of the stranger, placing him between she and Timmy.

The elevator began its journey, and not a word was spoken. Breaths were held a bit too deeply. Tongues were held a bit too taught. And when at last a door opened, and the only obstacle between them began his trek outside the box confining them, Timmy's mouth raced.

"Are you quite sure, sir, that you don't perhaps need to get off on the next floor, I hear it's quite a lovely floor...sir, it's...!"

But the man had already left, supplying Timmy a decidedly baffled look from over his shoulder as the doors closed behind him.

And so Timmy was left alone, several feet away from Allison. At first she said nothing, rocking a heel gently, pretending as if he wasn't there at all. Perhaps they could avoid this situation all together.

This lasted all of several seconds, her eyes shifting uneasily in his direction, unable to avoid his slight anxious shuffling.

At last she spoke very small words: "You work here?"

"Yes. You...?"

"Yes."

"Rather...strange coincidence," Timmy said, eyes focused steadily on the number above the elevator door. Open, please. Open. Open.

"We seem to keep having those," she said.

"Mm, yes. Indeed..." Open, open, open.

"It doesn't have to be awkward, Timmy."

Timmy's brain scrambled for the correct reply. 'Certainly not, Allison. My husband and I nearly separated because I kissed you, Allison. Our weekly therapy sessions frequently feature mention of your name, let's be friends, Allison, please, come to dinner some night! I'm certain Russell won't feed you arsenic.'

He offered up a friendly smile. "Quite...quite right. You know, there's another option here."

"Avoiding one another entirely?"

They both nodded in agreement, the elevator opening. They both breathed heavy sighs of relief.

And walked out together. They turned to one another, laughing awkwardly.

"Your floor?" asked Timmy.

"Another coincidence," said Allison.

They started walking the same direction, trying very hard to ignore this fact. Until, at last, they came to the same room, and realized there was no more ignoring the obvious.

"Timmy?"

Timmy's shoulders dropped, hand latching firm upon the handle to the conference room. "Yes?"

"This is a very strange coincidence."

Timmy turned the handle. "Yes."

 

* * *

 

Confident of the fact that Russell was secured in his office, having delivered him a fresh cup of coffee, Kevin was sure now that he had bought himself just enough time. He sat hunched at his desk, phone hidden neatly behind the screen of his computer, catching up on messages.

Emily seemed eager, but was playing it safe. He'd never been good at reading women, but she was a particularly clever case.

> Emily: Good morning. :)
> 
> Emily: Remember, play it cool with Russell.
> 
> Emily: I bet he's got you in a game of cat and mouse, already.
> 
> Emily: Don't worry, his bark is a lot worse than his bite.
> 
> Emily: So is mine.
> 
> Emily: ...Or is it? ;)
> 
> Emily: Who's the cat and who's the mouse? ;) Meow...

Wait...what? What does that even mean? Is she a cat, or a dog? Am I supposed to be into this?!

Another incoming text...

> Emily: I'm sorry, I'm terrible at flirting. At least I think that's what this is. Are we still on for tonight?

Yeah. Yeah, he was into it.

> Kevin: I'm the mouse. Catch me if you can, tonight. ;)

Russell would kill him.

 

* * *

 

The meeting had been underway for some time, room having grown quiet now as the team looked over folders full of complicated paperwork. All save for one irritating man by the name of Chip Conroy, smacking lips, acting ever bored with the proceedings.

He sat beside Timmy, tapping a manilla folder. Bored. "Numbers look good."

"Yes, they do," said Timmy, busy scrawling notes. "It's a wonder you'd know, you've barely taken the time to look at them."

"Could say the same for you, Patel."

"Some of us are preoccupied with our jobs, Chip, I've no time for your trifling distractions."

"Well, now, I dunno about all that. You seem distracted enough all on your own, today, budster. What's, uh...what's with you and the eye candy?"

Timmy, picking his head up properly now to look at Chip, found himself face to face with a sleazy smile and an arched brow.

Receiving no immediate response, the man patted Timmy lightly with the back of a hand. "C'mon, you and little miss four-eyes over there, the one with the nice...yuh-huh? She keeps on checkin' you out, I mean, little mousy but then wam-wam-WAM, what is she hiding? Are you hittin' that?"

Timmy stared into Chip for a brief moment, then turned away with a chuckle. "My, the resemblance is startling."

"Come again?"

"Oh, I apologize. I was just remarking..." Timmy looked back to the man, face stone cold, "that you remind me of my husband."

The man was silenced for a time, pulled back, a hand ran through his hair. He laughed and released a soft breath, attempting laughter. "So...I guess you haven't hit that, then."

"Well, now, I didn't say that," Timmy replied.

The man edged forward curiously.

And Timmy, compelled by sheer will of annoyance, turned his body now towards the man, perking hopefully. "Are you free tonight?"

Chip pulled back slowly. "Oh. N-no..."

"Coffee? Oh, _do_ tell me you're free for coffee..."

"Coffee...?"

Timmy set about smiling a calculated, slow smile, ever increasing the hint of flirtatious gleam in his eyes. He watched with perfectly contained pleasure the man before him squirm, nervous breath ever increasing until at last he had broken him.

"Dude, I-I'm not...into...sorry." And Chip stood from the table, changing seats.

"Oh, drats," Timmy mock-grumbled to himself. "And just my type."

He nearly laughed at the statement; that it might be true at all, as ridiculous a notion it seemed...that he might have a type in men. That they might all resemble the one he kept at home.

He was distracted indeed, then, by a familiar snicker.

From across the table, Timmy had caught Allison's eye. No longer the gentle flicks upward, attempting to avoid eye contact; she was smiling his way with a soft laugh, having visually witnessed his charade. He smiled back with a soft laugh, which quickly fell, replaced by a heavy lump in his stomach.

Ohhh, Russell would surely kill him.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, uh, I'm going out for lunch..." Russell's step was quick, his gaze diverted entirely from Kevin.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Dunbar."

"Hey, y'know what..." Russell turned on a heel, tapping the air. "I-Iii'm in a good mood today, nobody ever calls, anyway..." He wove Kevin forward. "Why don't you come with me, grab a bite? On me."

Kevin looked at Russell just a bit too long, eyes widening in shock, trying very hard to not have a full-blown panic attack.

"What, are we checking out the goods again? Man, you've gotta stop undressing me with your eyes, I know I'm irresistible, dude, but come on."

"Heh...is, uh...is this how it started with your husband? Business lunches?"

"Pleasure lunches."

"Not the way he tells it."

"Get your coat, funny man."

 

* * *

 

Jeff was unprepared for the burst of deja vu slinking in across from him in standard fashion at the diner this afternoon; Russell in business attire, sitting down with a whistle, and a shrinking businessman on a leash standing beside the booth, awaiting his command.

That hadn't happened in awhile. Jeff looked Kevin over slowly, carefully, the previous evening's events clicking. Ah, yeah. All coming together. "Hey, you."

Russell rose a slight brow but ignored any tone in Jeff's greeting. "Jeff, Kevin. Kevin, Jeff."

"New Timmy."

Russell flinched, appearing a touch disturbed by Jeff's moniker of choice. "Uh, well..."

"Takin' this kid to lunch, now? On your heel, ready to bark?"

"Uhh..."

"Yeah, New Timmy."

Kevin leaned a hand against the center of the table. "Sir, if I may?"

"Yeah, sure," said Russell. "Whatever."

"Hey, uh, Jed, is it?"

"Jeff." He corrected his name with more than a hint of irritation.

"Jack, sure. So, my name is Kevin. That's _Kevin_ , pretty easy name to remember. And I'm pretty sure one of the qualifiers for fulfilling the role of a 'New Timmy' would be, and...please sir, Mr. Dunbar, correct me if I'm wrong...I believe such a role would eventually entail the desire to explore the contents of one Russell Dunbar's pants--"

Russell choked on air.

"--and I assure you, John, that I hold no such desire, so if you'd be so kind as to refer to me by name...which, I'll gladly remind you, is _Kevin_ , and we can drop this 'New Timmy' nonsense, that would be just great. Yeah? Okay? All good? Cool."

Kevin's phone dinged. He turned to Russell, requesting permission to be excused, which was promptly granted; as soon as he was out of earshot, Jeff looked to Russell.

"I hate this kid, when do we get Old Timmy back?"

"Promoted Old Timmy, remember?"

"Damn it, that's right, you had to go and marry that one. Liked that one better. This one back talks."

"The other one back talked. He still back talks, it's just husband back talk, not assistant back talk. Is that better, or worse? You've been at this longer than I have, I don't know..."

"Yeah, but when he did it, he did it in the funny voice and he was all polite about it, this kid's just a jerk. And I don't know, I tune Audrey out, you'll learn to tune Timmy out. It's like an invisible hearing aid, you just..." Jeff motioned turning a dial against an ear.

Kevin returned now, all smiles. "Anything I can do for you, sir?"

Russell cringed slightly. "You're getting a little bit nippy, let's not get too nippy, Kevin."

Jeff rose a hand. "This is exactly how it started."

Russell and Kevin both looked to Jeff, perplexed.

"Before he lost all will to live. Timmy, nipping at the heels. From here, it's all just a slow descent into Russell's pants."

Russell stood from the table, growling. "Ah, for the love of...!" He pointed to both his lunch companions. "You're both the most irritating idiots I've ever met, you know that, right? You guys know that?"

"Adam's not here," said Jeff.

"Two of the most irritating idiots I've ever met! Damn it!" And he marched away to clear his head, yanking out his phone. Griping at Timmy about the jerks of the world, no doubt; nothing new. Daily occurrence.

And Jeff folded hands upon the table as Kevin sat. And Kevin, sensing Jeff's game, reading the look in his eyes, grew more and more nervous.

"We both know," said Jeff, "whose pants you really want to descend."

"You can't tell him."

"That you were with Dunbar Junior? Wouldn't think of it."

Jeff's hand unfolded slowly before Kevin, who stared for some time at the open palm in front of him, confused. The confusion was short-lived; he sighed out, reaching into a pocket, pulling out his wallet.

"How much?"

"What's it worth to you?"

"I hate this job, man."

"He finds out you're dating his daughter...he kills you."

Kevin considered this. He shrugged. "I can take him."

Jeff wriggled the fingers of his open hand; Kevin placed a twenty dollar bill in his open palm. Jeff's fingers urged more. Another twenty. Still more urging.

"Ahh, come on! This guy's a cheapskate, whattaya want from me?!"

Jeff accepting this humble donation. "Next time I see you, the gods will demand another offering."

 

* * *

 

> Russell: Jeff and Kevin are so mean. :(
> 
> Timmy: Play nice.
> 
> Russell: I always play nice everybody just sucks. Except you. You're awesome you're the best love you. <3 :-*

Timmy had stayed after work in order to sit alone in a box; his cubicle, the nearest he'd ever had to a real office...but it was his. Two walls, a desk. It was something, and he'd been assured it was a temporary position, upper-bottom of the ladder.

Just play those cards and play them smart, Timmy.

He set about pulling a small handful of photos from his briefcase, laying them atop his desk. For his walls. He was admiring the photos when he heard footsteps coming up behind him; and then a soft voice.

"I didn't think anybody was still here."

Timmy turned to find Allison approaching nervously, arms held taught against her chest. She held steady now, hesitated in coming any nearer, and Timmy hesitated in extending invitation...

He wove her forward, and she relaxed, making her way over. She stole a chair from a neighboring cubicle, wheeling her way over and sitting.

"So..." She seemed lost for words. "I'm not quite sure where to start."

"Please, may I?" She seemed quite relieved at Timmy's offer. "I would hate for our working relationship to be at all uncomfortable...for either one of us, and so...if you feel there's anything we need to discuss, anything at all...to lay it all out on the table, as it were--"

"Perhaps don't phrase it that way."

"We did do an awful lot of that, didn't we?"

"On tables, yes. On desks. Chairs..." Allison made a quick job of shifting the conversation in a less sexual direction. "Is this your family?" She'd noticed the photos on Timmy's desk.

"Oh! Oh, yes." Timmy picked up the top photo from the pile. "Uhm...my mother, my father...my sister, Simran."

"You told me you were an only child."

"What now?"

"An only child."

Timmy stared at Allison, quite baffled at this revelation. "I, uhm...I don't quite...recall telling you either way."

"I do. Quite distinctly. We were about to have sex, I was frustrated at knowing so little about you and you told me you were an only child."

Timmy placed the photo back to his desk slowly. "Ah...yes, well, I...said a lot of things, didn't I?" That was certainly one for the psychiatrist.

"Well, she's pretty," said Allison, brushing away troublesome conclusions. She reached across the desk, grabbing another photo. She examined it for some time, looking back at Timmy...almost suspiciously.

He grew nervous. Until at last she spoke.

"He looks different when he smiles. Maybe it's that I always just took him for a miserable being whose sole purpose in life was to spread that misery to others."

She handed him the photo. "You don't seem miserable."

A shot of him and Russell. Central Park, a month earlier. Jen had taken it, spur of the moment. One of those, 'Say Cheese!' things that had actually turned out better than anticipated. Russell had given him rabbit ears, of course, but...happy. Yes, they looked stupidly happy.

This was not at all lost on Allison. "I really should have known better, the last time we met. He was acting a certain way, you were acting a certain way, I just...got caught up. I guess people will do that, get...caught up?"

Timmy nodded slowly. "Yes..."

"I guess I'm trying to apologize."

"The blame was not...entirely on you."

There came another silence in which neither Timmy nor Allison looked to one another; a silent acknowledgement that this would be the last they spoke of the incident...the stolen kiss. She would never know just how much trouble it had caused...continued to cause.

"Well, Allison, I...look forward to working with you."

"Yes, of course." She stood, reaching out a hand and a friendly smile. They shook hands, and she walked away with a nervous sigh.

Timmy taped photos to his wall, packed up his things, and made his way out of the office.

He wasn't sure where he was going.

 

* * *

 

Russell had burned dinner. Again. He used to be pretty good at this cooking thing, once upon a time, back before he'd grown...distracted. For as long as he'd ever known, the distractions had been those of women, lust, sexual desires.

Well, okay, so he was still pretty horny these days and he still scrapped his fair amount of scorched meals due to thinking about sex, but...

> Russell: burned dinner again, not having a great night, total space case babe :(

The particular source for his distraction these days was a touch different.

> Timmy: I'll be late anyway. Order yourself takeout again.

Despairingly, Russell opted for the diner. It wasn't real company, but he couldn't stand the solitude.

 

* * *

 

It was a desperate measure, but Timmy didn't known where else to turn. He had left work and headed for her office. He didn't call ahead of time, he wasn't sure she would even be there so late in the day...but come six o'clock, he found himself standing face to face with his therapist, who stood in a darkened lobby, poised to leave her place of work.

Now, a patient behaving in such a manner, appearing off their hour, desperate and a touch shaken, might have been a red flag. Certainly this wasn't Timmy's usual behavior, and so Linda turned, walking back towards a wall, and flipped on a light. The building was very much empty. She motioned him to take a seat beside her in the still of the waiting room.

"What happened, Timmy?"

"It was the strangest thing, you know, I..." His voice was soft, he had difficulty looking at her, but at least he was able to speak. "I tried to go home, and then I came here instead, I...I don't know why. I apologize..."

"It's okay." They met eyes, the silence of the lobby wrapping arms all about them, a protective blanket tonight. "Sometimes you just need to run, Timmy. You ran here. It's okay. Let's talk."

 

* * *

 

"No Timmy?" Doreen seemed less than thrilled to be meeting anyone of the last leg of her shift, but tapped a pencil in front of Russell, waking him from his daze.

"Mm...ah, no. He's, uh, working late again."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Russell offered the warmest laugh he could. "Sorry. Could I just get--"

"Got apple pie tonight. You burn dinner again?"

Russell pursed his lips, looking away shamefully. "Perhaps..."

"Yeah, I've heard he's the better cook."

"Who the heck told you that?"

"He did."

Russell folded arms indignantly. "Yeah, well, he's a dirty liar. Cook circles around that guy, if he'd...show up for dinner..."

Doreen looked at Russell just long enough to see a flicker of honesty enter the corner of his eyes. "You boys used to hang out in here a lot together...been awhile. Look a little lonely, sitting here all by yourself."

He couldn't answer.

"Don't worry. I'll bring you the regular." She turned to walk away.

"...And a milkshake," Russell added.

"And a milkshake."

 

* * *

 

"Yesterday was strange," said Timmy.

"Halloween," said Linda. "You don't do Halloween."

"This is a year of changes."

They were both relaxing quite easily into impromptu conversation; less therapy session, more friendly, but they often spoke this way.

"Ohhh, yeah. The Russell factor."

"Indeed."

Linda tapped air thoughtfully. "Well, you've always had a Russell factor. Guess it's the...'I'm kissing him, not collating for him' factor."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Timmy shrugged. "It's a long name, but I can live with it."

"So, what happened yesterday?"

"Well, between Adam's genitals, my new position at work, and nearly punching out a woman for kissing Russell, it was a rather strange day. Oh, and Russell going on about wanting a baby, that was something..."

"Okay, that...was a lot to unpackage...what was the last...he wants a baby? With you?"

"Well, yes, of course! Or maybe he does, I...a lot of things happened yesterday, I don't know. You see, Russell has this way of going comatose in order to avoid emotional confrontations, which he very much did yesterday, and I nearly broke through, we were on the precipice of getting somewhere when it all fell to pieces and by the end of the night of course I was drunk on wine and propositioned him into making love and so you see, nothing is ever resolved. This is how it always happens, perhaps this has been the entirety of our relationship, sans the lovemaking of course, but Linda, he had told me a story about his childhood and how he's always wanted someone to be the Robin to his Batman, he has this...this undeniable appeal when he's emotionally vulnerable, and damn it all, I have needs!"

Linda nodded very slowly. "You're doing that thing, Timmy. Remember to breathe."

Timmy took a very deliberate breath. "Yes, very well."

"Are we okay?"

"This isn't even...this isn't why I've..." He took another breath, deeper now, regaining clarity.

"So...there's more to why you've invaded my office after hours?"

"Allison."

Linda scrolled rapidly down a list of mental notes. "The ex-girlfriend?"

"She's shown up at my job. As of today, it seems...we'll be working rather closely together, so you see...I can't go home."

"Well, yeah, sure, that makes sense. Russell will smell her all over you, your only option was clearly coming and spending the night in my office. You need a blanket, pillows? We could make you a fort, hide out until it's safe?"

"I appreciate your sympathy," he replied sarcastically. But he understood her brand of jest, and it served as a touch of relief in the midst of madness.

Linda leaned forward, seeking Timmy's face, which he did his best to hide. She smiled softly, exuding warmth and empathy. "Timmy, I understand why you panicked, it sounds like this was the last thing you needed right now. I know you guys are already having trouble communicating, sounds like yesterday stirred the pot. And you're right, if Russell hears about you-know-who, it probably won't be pretty."

Timmy was quiet for some time, processing. "Russell is frightened. He's afraid of losing me. I feel as if it's...it's my fault, somehow, perhaps...ever since he saw Allison and I...and now..."

"Think you might be giving yourself a little too much credit for your husband's insecurities?"

Timmy's phone rang. He looked first to Linda, who nodded gently, urging him to answer. Timmy pulled the phone from his pocket. He looked to the caller...and he let the phone ring. And ring.

The phone stopped ringing.

"Was that Russell?"

"...Yes."

"Go home, Timmy."

He looked to her; the statement had been unusually blunt, throwing him off guard.

"I don't have to tell you how little good it does hiding from Russell. He'll just track you down. Hell, the guy's chipped you, do we really wanna test him?"

Timmy laughed softly. "He has attachment issues."

"Yeah, well, we're supposed to be playing around in your head, not his, but..." She shrugged, nodded. "Y'know, honesty is important in a relationship, but the most important thing in a relationship is _being_ in the relationship."

Timmy's phone buzzed; a text message. He looked toward the screen, face quite worrisome.

> Russell: guess you're hard at work, sorry to bug you, just miss you like crazy, love you

"Listen, Timmy, I don't think you came here for the reasons you think you did. You don't need to answer the Allison question tonight. You need to answer your phone."

> Timmy: Be home soon. I love you.

 

* * *

 

Timmy entered the diner confused. He had sincerely meant to make his way back home this time, he really had, but something had compelled him here this time instead.

He was scared.

He was lost.

He stood in the doorway, contemplating poor life choices, and how it could be that even the best of choices could lead to such heartache, when a familiar figure approached, patting him against an arm.

"Y'know, he's been sitting back there for over an hour. You'd better get your little behind over there, I ain't bringin' him anymore milkshakes, he's cut off."

Timmy watched Doreen walk away before shifting attentions towards Russell.

Russell, who had barely tasted his food this evening, despite eating more and more of it, the act itself a mere automated response, his taste buds barely activating. When Doreen returned to his table, collecting plates and glasses, she supplied a small slap to his shoulder, gaining his attention, pointing Timmy's way with a small nod.

Timmy sat across from Russell a moment later...wordless; appearing surprisingly uncomfortable, Russell thought. Strange.

Russell looked to his watch; oh, damn. How long had he been sitting here? He looked back to Timmy, expected something. Anything. There came nothing

"So...hey," said Russell at last. "Long night?"

"Yes...yes, well, it turns out it's quite a hefty project. I...do apologize, if I could have been home any earlier..."

"How'd you know to find me here?"

Timmy turned eyes down, avoiding Russell's gaze just a moment. "I didn't."

A long silence followed then, Russell piecing together the statement. There wasn't much to piece together. "You coming home, now?"

"It isn't what you think, Russell." Timmy hated lying. "I wasn't avoiding you."

"Coming home?"

"Please don't be cross, might we talk? Something is happening and I really think we ought to discuss--"

"Well, I'm out, Timmy." Russell spoke dismissively, standing abruptly. "Keep up the good work, see you on the flipside."

"What...?"

Russell froze in place, back-peddling his brain. "Uhm...that..." His head shook softly.

Timmy nodded, voice a touch stern. "That was office Russell."

"Office Russell."

"May I speak to husband Russell?"

Russell's eyes turned down towards the floor, avoiding eye contact. His shoulders dropped; his voice grew very small. "I...burned dinner again, felt like an idiot. Again. Sometimes I think...you make me an idiot, y'know? Not just because you're like a million times smarter than me, but...you make my brain not work, it gets so...so busy thinking about you it makes me do stupid stuff, like..." There it was. Timmy's hand, grasping for his. "Like burn dinner..."

"I'll try not to be late, again."

"I'll, uh...try not to burn dinner, again."

"Impossible."

They exchanged the smallest of smiles; the best they could do, but it counted for something, tonight. They'd go home, speak very little, and sleep.

 

* * *

 

Saturday morning. Russell awoke to find Timmy's side of the bed empty; he found him in the kitchen, eating sad looking dry toast, drinking sad looking black coffee.

"Hey, Tim."

"Good morning."

"It's past noon."

Timmy ignored this revelation. "Coffee?"

Russell ignored the offer; he sat beside Timmy at the kitchen island. There came a heavy silence.

Russell waited patiently. At last an opportunity arose; Timmy released his coffee to the island, placing his hand flat upon the surface. And there fell Russell's hand atop his, casually, as if he hadn't aimed to place it there.

And slowly, their fingers curled together, as if they hadn't willed them to.

And Timmy felt quick, curt lips upon his cheek. When he turned to look at Russell, he'd already looked down and away.

"New rule. Always kiss good morning and good night," said Russell. "Even if it's after noon, still counts, right?"

Timmy gleamed in that infectious way that forced a smile onto Russell's face.

"So...hey, thought I'd order takeout and we could spend the day in bed."

"Well..."

"We could watch all those movies you like that I don't understand a word of, how about that?"

Timmy's head fell against Russell's shoulder. An answer in the affirmative.

 

* * *

 

To Russell's word, the rest of the day was spent in bed, watching movies he didn't really like, with a person he really did. It was worth it. Timmy's enthusiastic explanations of each film were cumbersome; Russell would never remember any of it. But Timmy was warm, both physically and personally, and Russell was happy just to be with him.

It was a day of avoidance, and they both knew it...but it didn't really strike until evening, when conversation turned to real life.

They both stood in the bathroom mirror, fussing over Russell's hair, which Timmy mussed up, giggling at how annoyed this made his partner.

"Dude!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, the way you baby your hair, we'd have no time for children."

Russell stopped smoothing down his hair long enough to look at Timmy's reflection in the mirror, deadpan. Cold replacing warmth, for just that moment. Timmy's gaze away stood as his apology. Russell promptly changed the topic.

He turned to Timmy, grazing a hand against his cheek. "The stubble works."

"I didn't shave today, did I?"

"You can stand to skip a day, it's kinda sexy." Russell growled, rubbing his own cheek now against Timmy's.

Timmy sniggered, shoving Russell away. "I shave for work, mostly, I just feel...well groomed, you know." He pointed towards Russell's face. "We can't all pull of your...look."

Russell rolled his eyes in a mocking manner, walking behind Timmy and linking arms around his chest, rocking back and forth in an easy manner. His head fell just against the top of Timmy's back, and his voice came out uncertain now.

"How's...that going?"

"How's...what going? Shaving?"

"Uh, work...how's work?"

Timmy took a long time in answering the question. A day-to-day, boring question, a how-is-your-life question, and Russell picked up his head so as to see the reflection of a man looking for answers to a seemingly simple inquiry.

"Fine," said Timmy finally, looking back at Russell in the mirror. "Work is fine." Then, running a hand against the bristle of his cheek: "You really think I look good this way?"

Russell slid around to the front of Timmy, arms ever linked about him. "You always look good."

 

* * *

 

Sunday.

Russell started the day with a peck upon a sleeping Timmy and a note upon his night stand...

> _went to the store, be home soon, xoxoxo :) - R_

He returned with two cups of coffee and a bag of donuts to find Timmy gone. His heart sank. He read the note left for him in return...

> _sorry, stepped out for air, be back ASAP - T xx_

As he often did in times of desperation, Russell sat down at his computer, took a deep breath, and called his sister-in-law via video chat.

"Hello, Russell!"

"Hey."

"Something's wrong. Another fight? Timmy's an idiot? What's the sitch?"

"No..." Russell laughed softy. "No, uh...hey, Simmy, listen, is there any reason your brother'd be avoiding me?"

Simran thought a moment. "I shouldn't think so. Whatever's going on, I'm sure it's fine, Russell. I'll talk to him if you want me to."

"No! No, don't do that, then he'll know I called. Never mind, it's cool, I'll just let you go, don't worry about it."

None of that. "Russell! What's going on? You called me, now talk to me."

She watched as all the nervous ticks set in. Lips pulling tight, eyes diverting, body shaking softly. He didn't want to talk about it. Too bad, mister.

"Talk, or I'm driving all the way from Chicago and wringing your little blond neck. I mean it this time."

Russell grumbled his annoyance before declaring, "He's still acting fishy. He doesn't even wanna talk about how work is going, suddenly."

"Are you both still on about that? His new job, him not working for your company anymore? He was out of work for months, Russell..."

"My fault."

"Irrelevant. He was so happy when he was able to go back to work, I saw an immediate change in him..."

"Yeah, got away from me."

"No...no!" Simran had already had enough. For a moment she stood entirely, walking about so as he could only see a set of legs as she spoke flustered, foreign words Russell didn't understand. Yeah, Timmy did that too, sometimes, when he was pissed. When at last she returned, sitting back down, hand wringing through her hair, she looked to him sternly. "My god, you're both such stubborn mules, shut up and listen, do you know your husband at all?!"

Russell looked away shamefully. "Kinda."

"Ugh! 'Kinda,' he says. Timmy loves you, he loves you very much, but he's very proud, Russell. He didn't come to this country on a whim, his schooling wasn't for kicks and giggles. And you were the only one contributing to the income...he felt bored and useless."

"Yeah, but...I have money, I was taking care of him."

"Come now, I _know_ you know him better than that. Do you really think he wants to be a kept man?"

"...No."

"He can't work for you, he can't play house husband, he must live his life. But Russell, why do you think you're not a part of it? You're the biggest part."

He couldn't argue. He couldn't quite agree, but he couldn't argue.

"You've always been the biggest part for him. By force, at first, but then quite willingly. You go to work, what do you think about all day long?"

Russell flinched. "I should say work."

"You think of Timmy."

"Always did...never had much choice, he was right there..."

"And he thinks of you. So now that you're assured you're coming home to one another, what does it matter that you're offices apart? You carry one another wherever you go."

He looked to her with a sincere sort of dread; she could read it in his eyes. And there, she knew his fears. It was all clear.

"He's never going to leave you, Russell. He's mad about you. Even when he's mad _at_ you. I've never known my brother to be so...blissfully complete."

Russell shook his head...but a gentle smile showed through his dismissal. She'd gotten to him. It had worked.

"Where is Timmy, now?" she asked.

"Gone," said Russell. He examined a hand in distraction. "Gone...someplace, for some reason. Who knows when he'll show back up...kind of a trend forming..."

"You're not doing anything today?"

"Say that like we should be."

"Well, it's Diwali. I know Timmy's had a hard time on holidays living alone, but he did tell me you'd been open to learning about--"

"Wait, wait, what? It's what?"

"It's...Diwali. He didn't say anything at all?"

Russell thought. He thought as hard as he could, until at last something clicked, a comment in passing on Halloween night. A comment he had flippantly dismissed. Of course he had.

Something, something, 'candy is cooler than li--' "Lights?"

"Yes. Festival of Lights."

"Damn it, I'm a jackass. I've gotta go...hey, uh, Sim?"

"Yes, Russell?"

"Thanks."

She smiled warm across the miles. "You're welcome."

 

* * *

 

Timmy was starting on his second drink; he was pacing himself. He wasn't prone to drinking in the afternoon, and he wasn't prone to drinking so often, but hell, he needed it, these days.

"Hey, buy you another drink?" A sultry female voice behind him.

He didn't bother looking back. "Married. Jealous type."

"I've seen him, I can take the little twerp."

At this he spun from his place at the bar; he smiled at Jen, who slid in beside him. She ordered herself a drink, topped Timmy off, and leaned against an arm, looking him over.

"Timmy, what are you doing here? Karaoke doesn't start for hours."

He stifled a laugh. "What are _you_ doing here? Adam still resting off the, ah..."

"He says I turn him on too much, it's driving him crazy that his junk's on bed rest. So I guess I'm here avoiding my husband's sick penis."

Timmy nodded in acceptance.

"C'mon, seriously, what are you doing drinking in the middle of the afternoon? I take it you're also avoiding your husband's sick penis?"

Timmy sighed out long and low. "Ohhh, Jen. I have problems."

"Since when do you not?"

Timmy took a large swallow of alcohol. "What if I were to tell you that I have recently crossed paths once more with a certain woman whose name begins with Allison...?"

Jen let off a single solitary laugh and spoke as if the answer were quite obvious: "I'd say stop crossing paths."

"We're working together."

"Intimately?"

"Uncomfortable choice of words, but yes."

"Are you tempted?" Jen looked at Timmy; he took a drink. He did not answer immediately. "You're hesitating."

"I...am not! I'm not hesitating, I'm not...tempted! Why would I be tempted?!"

"You kissed her! You slept on my sofa, you nearly broke up over this woman." She nodded firmly. "You need to quit."

"What?!"

"If you're working intimately with somebody who threatens your relationship and there's no way to get away from them, then what are your options?"

"My options are being a decent husband and respectable employee, I can certainly work in a professional manner with Allison without it going any further."

"You used to have sex with her at work."

"Yes...w-well, I...ancient history. Completely irrelevant, I--"

"Fine. Is _she_ tempted?"

"No. It's over, Jennifer, it's done."

"I believe you, Timmy, I do. You're the most genuinely good guy I've ever met. Just remember, good intentions don't always win out over libidos. And what happens when Russell finds out Allison's within an inch of you?"

"That. That's the part that worries me."

"Take my advice, Timmy. Speaking as a woman, if my husband was working with his ex--"

"I'm not married to a woman, I'm married to man."

Jen scoffed. "Come on, you're married to _Russell_."

Timmy sighed out in irritation, taking another drink. "Jennifer, I can't just quit. I need this job, it's taken me so long to get back to this place in my life, I finally have a sense of purpose again. This job is all I have!"

The look of disappointment plastered across Jen's face took Timmy by surprise; what had he said?

"Your job is all you have, Timmy?"

He looked to the drink in his hand, contemplating the words. Oh. There it was, the words pierced back against his own chest. "I didn't mean...no."

And all of Russell's words came flooding back. Fears of losing him. That sense of dread Russell seemed to have so internalized, that they were growing apart. Damn it.

Maybe Russell was right. Maybe Jen was right.

Maybe he needed to quit.

 

* * *

 

Timmy stood in the hall, pacing back and forth, attempting to gain the confidence to enter his apartment. He had stayed at the bar for hours after his talk with Jen, trying to piece together a puzzle. The pieces didn't fit; he'd tried to force them. Now only one question remained.

How would he explain this to Russell?

_'Russell, I'm quitting my job. No, it's nothing at all to do with anything you've said, the company's just not a good fit, you see, I'll find a better job someplace else. Yes, of course, we'll just go back to the way things were for awhile, I quite enjoyed my time at home. Alone. Toiling about. Doing nothing for hours on end. Staring at my useless diplomas on the wall.'_

Russell would never believe it. His gut churned. Maybe Allison would transfer tomorrow and all of this would go away. Or maybe Timmy would keel over tomorrow, die of stress, and he'd never have to do anything about anything. Yes. Yes, maybe that.

With a deep breath, he opened the door. And with held breath, his eyes opened wide...

This was not the same apartment he had left mere hours ago. No. It was a home transformed. For all around him in a room dimmed, he found himself surrounded by hundreds of flickering lights.

Candles. Russell had placed them everywhere, on tables and shelves; tall candles, short candles, votives and tea lights floating in vases. Wherever he could fit a candle, there it was. Lights wherever Timmy looked, and walking further inside, upon a small table, a makeshift display.

Candles arranged neatly amidst flowers. And a note, which he picked up and read, growing teary-eyed.

> _I know this isn't really how this Diwali thing works, but I went downtown and grabbed whatever I could. You can show me what's up next year, okay? Hope you like it, anyway._

"Hey..."

Timmy turned to face Russell, who walked up behind him hesitantly, very much afraid his efforts had failed. Tight arms around him proved otherwise.

"Guess you like it..."

"Thank you, Russell."

Russell hesitated in pulling away, grateful for Timmy's embrace, but... "Something else."

"There's more?"

He was led towards the fireplace, lit bright now, and the men sat upon the floor, before the fire. Russell shrugged, offering two boxes. "This is stupid. You're supposed to have sweets or something, right? So here's the thing, I'd already gotten donuts earlier. But then I...I ate the donuts. So I went and got more donuts, then I'm like, that's stupid, and I went down to Indian row and I asked the guy, I told the guy I was trying to do something for my family for Diwali, so he gives me these things, he says they're like Indian donuts. Weird little ball things."

"Gulab jamun?"

"Uhh...sure. So anyway, we've got both." He opened the boxes. "So...there's that."

Timmy smiled, grabbing a rounded sweet from a box; rather than direct it towards his own mouth, Russell found the mysterious confection driven towards his own, with little time to think.

"Oh! Geez." He was already chewing before he could accept the offer. "Oh, dude, that's...that's good. Better than most of the stuff you force-feed me. Here..."

An exchange of cultures seemed only fair. Russell grabbed a powdered donut, shoving it in Timmy's face. This resulted in a small bite, but mostly a fit of giggles and a face full of powder.

Russell laughed at the sight of him, leaning forward and supplying one swift lick to the side of Timmy's face to clean him of sugar. He resisted his lips, though ever tempted. He was so cute.

This seemed a time for a different sort of intimacy. "Hey, Tim, I just...I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you."

Timmy was preoccupied with cleaning the rest of his face with a sleeve, laughter dissipating, when the words struck him. "Oh..."

"Yeah, uh...you know, I've got that silver spoon syndrome, sometimes I need some perspective on this 'working for what you want' thing? And I've only been thinking about myself, I guess. Like, how I sorta miss the way things were, and how maybe the big bad world's gonna steal you away."

"Russell..."

"Nah, listen, the point is I'm...really proud of you, you're cool, man, you're great. You really worked your tail off to get where you are. I mean, I almost screwed that all up, and you still managed to make it work. Look at you, you've got this great job, probably gonna own that company in a few years. Woulda had _my_ job if I'd let ya."

Timmy smirked flirtatiously. "Yes, well, it's not your _job_ I wanted."

"Pft, you love rewriting history. You got the consolation prize."

Timmy jostled Russell's leg with a hand. "No matter, I'm enjoying it immensely. And you talk of the world stealing me away, outrageous notion. Russell, I don't think you even realize what you've done here tonight..."

"What have I done?"

Timmy motioned all around him, to a hundred lights that seemed a million more. "Do you know how wonderful you can be? I've never felt so..." He caught his breath; it was all so overwhelming. He'd walked in this apartment feeling tense and fearful, as if the world was crashing down all around him. He'd ended up feeling so very different, surrounded by the warmth of Russell's light.

Loved. He felt truly loved.

"Tim, I'm just...trying to do...better."

"You're doing your best, darling. And your best...is wonderful, I mean, look at all of this. Sure, perhaps you're a little rusty at times, but then..."

Timmy's eyes grew wide at the sharp laugh which emerged from Russell; he had thrust a hand over his mouth in an attempt to not spoil the moment.

"What did I say?"

Russell wove it off, but Timmy kept staring. "Nah, just...I'm 'a little Rusty'."

Timmy smiled. "Oh, yes. Well, I suppose you are." Then, taking a beat for thought... "Rusty. Perhaps I'll start calling you that."

"Pft, only my mom calls me that."

"I'm practically your mother."

"Yeah, if my mother's a thirty-year-old dude who nags me all the time to keep my socks off the floor, then maybe, I--" He was cut off quite abruptly by a pair of soft lips and a hand to the back of his head, held there gently, easily. And Russell, shaking, lifted both hands, one finding Timmy's face, the other finding fingers linked with his. Always fitting just so, as if they belonged together.

And two men sat before a sea of fire, each flame flickering a soft dance of shadow against figure, heat connecting like so many tiny fingertips, urging souls together. Burning bright and lit by love.

Nothing hurt. Nothing was confusing, or complicated. No minds wandered.

Be here, now. Just be here.

Nothing could have been more perfect.


	6. Hide and Seek

"I'm still a little jealous of all this," said Jen, eyeing Audrey's work set-up. Top of the line computer with all the fixings. Her employers had supplied the home set-up not so long ago, a bit to Jeff's perturbance, but to their credit a pretty snazzy miniature office now resided against the far side of a living room wall.

"Yeah, well, don't envy me too much," said Audrey, swiveling lightly in her desk chair. "It comes at a price. Barely have time to use it for pleasure, Tug and Barry have me so busy these days."

"With what? I thought your job description was basically non-existent."

"Oh, they'll think of something," bemoaned Audrey. "They aaaalways...think...of something." Sure enough, she had been requested to video chat again. Third time today.

She answered the call and was met by Darth Vader, breathing deeply into the camera.

"For real?" asked Jen. In the background flashed random streams of light. "What the heck was that?"

"They're having a duel."

"What?"

"They're playing with lightsabers."

"Audrey..." the voice on the screen bellowed. "I...am...your...father."

"Cute, Tug." Audrey had learned to humor her bosses' behavior, the way one might small children, and offered up a haphazard smile. "Did you tear down the Enterprise?"

Tug removed the mask upon his face. "Nah, just moved the Enterprise down the hall. How's the whatever it was you were working on?"

"Budget? I believe I had suggested I look into your budget. Gotta tell ya, Tug, I'm not sure you can include things like toy lightsabers as company expenses."

"Ah, c'mon Audrey, can't you think of something? Stress relief for the employees? I mean, look at how much fun everybody's having!"

Tug moved to the side, ensuring Audrey had a proper view of the chaos that was the office. Barry, curly mop of hair barely covered by the hood of a long, draping robe, came up to the camera with a smile. "I barely need any Ritalin on saber-days!"

"Works it outta his system," assured Tug.

"Right out," said Barry. "Whoooo!" He dashed back into the crowd, making sound effects of 'pew' and 'wah' as he went along.

"So see, totally a company expense," said Tug, face coming back into focus on the camera.

"I don't know..."

Tug, returning his mask to his face, declared: "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Is that one of your...little..." No. She wasn't talking to Darth Vader. She didn't have the energy. "Sure. Sure, I'll figure something out."

"Thanks, Aud, you're the best!" He turned back to the group, grabbing a large, glowing object before the video cut away.

And Audrey placed her face in her hands, muffling a yell. Jen patted her back in comfort.

"This is bordering on the most annoying job in the world," declared Audrey at last.

"Yeah, this is...pretty weird." She had a thought. "But I can think of a worse job," said Jen, nearly sing-song.

Audrey rose a curious brow, abandoning her irritation and turning towards Jen in favor of the possibility of gossip. Other people's problems were a pleasant enough distraction from her own. "Got a story?"

Jen hissed. "Well, Timmy..."

Audrey grumbled, returning to her desk. "Oh, come on, I've heard that one."

"Pft, we've all heard that one, this is new. And...I shouldn't be telling you this at all, forget I said anything."

Okay, forget Darth Tug, this was clearly something good. She leaned forward in expectation. Jen tilted forward in much the same fashion, soon speaking with her hands in a grand sort of irritation.

"Do you ever feel like men are the dumbest animal on the planet?"

Audrey didn't answer for a moment, waiting for Jen to continue. "Oh...! That wasn't a rhetorical question? Yes, of course. Your average human male is completely stupid."

"Well, Timmy? Totally average human male."

"I'm genuinely disappointed." And so Audrey genuinely was. Somehow, Timmy had always seemed to rise above Neanderthal. What was happening? "Is it Russell?"

"What?"

"Did Russell ruin Timmy for everybody?"

"I don't know, probably, but...he's working with his ex-girlfriend."

"Oh, now, come on! What's with Timmy and ex-girlfriends?"

"No, it's the same one!"

"The same one that caused the great Timmy getting stuck in a barn, Russell sleeping in our apartment fiasco?"

"Yes."

"Well, he'd better straighten up. Russell is _not_ sleeping in our apartment again."

 

* * *

 

"Good morning, Timmy."

And so it was, indeed, a good morning. Timmy greeted Allison with a nod and a whistle as he placed his belongings atop his desk, scarcely bothering to look twice at her as she wove her way now through the office.

And so it was he looked back at her now, catching the tail end of her journey; she'd become merely another piece of his day-to-day life this week, growing familiar and comfortable once again.

The week of two masks. The week of 'Russell doesn't need to know.'

"Hey, Timmy." Mr. Charles. Leaning casually against Timmy's cubicle, no big deal. Timmy turned a quick heel, smiling perhaps too broadly his direction. "Down, boy."

"Yes, sir." Timmy smoothed his tie, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Might should work on that, uh...thing you do. You're very nervous, sometimes. Like one of those little dogs. We're all just one big wheelhouse here, no pressure, huh?" Charles tapped the inside of Timmy's cubicle, indicating photos placed neatly with tape a week before, a makeshift decorative effort. "Nice family, very cute."

"Oh...yes, thank you, sir."

"You uh, you tell Russell to give me a call one of these days. You know his father's impossible to get ahold of? Unless it involves golf or strippers."

"Stripping golfers, perhaps." The joke invoked a laugh, but Timmy kicked himself. What a ridiculous thing to say.

"Tell me that doesn't run in the family?"

Timmy's brain was consistently playing catch-up to casual talk of Russell in the workplace in the capacity of husband rather than boss...to the concept of being "out," and he struggled a moment. He had never really outed himself at work; it had just begun trickling slowly down to those with their finger on the pulse of things.

Timmy had been silenced. Charles took the reigns. "Does your husband golf?"

"Uhm...he prefers the sort of clubs where one might find the aforementioned strippers." _Or golfing with strippers, I suppose. Timmy, you idiot._

Charles found a laugh. "Sounds about right. Well, you tell him thanks for letting us borrow one of the best men I've had on my team in years...that's you...then you have him keep me on speed dial, need somebody over at Dunbar to answer a damn phone once in awhile."

 

* * *

 

Russell liked his new chair. It was better at spinning than the old one; he could go for a solid thirty seconds before losing much momentum, but his head started to hurt after two or three spins in one direction, so he would...

"Is this seriously what you do with your time?"

Abrupt halt; Russell grabbed the desk with both hands, and once his stomach had realigned back into position, he folded his hands neat upon the desk and looked to Kevin in the most professional manner he could supply, hair still amuss. "Can I help you?"

"Did you want regular milk or chocolate milk with lunch?"

"Chocolate milk, Kevin. Always chocolate milk, heck am I paying you for, anyway?"

"Seriously, you sure you're not trolling me?" Kevin smirked just a little.

Russell looked on stoney-eyed, unflinching.

Kevin popped lips. "No, uh...sorry. Of course not. Sending flowers home again, today?"

Russell leaned against a hand, smiling. "Oh! Yes!"

"And chocolates?" There seemed distinct sides to Russell: the cynic, the child, the romantic... Kevin liked this side, it was pleasant. "What's going on at home, anyhow? It's like you're trying to court your husband."

"Maaaybe I am."

 

* * *

 

"Again?" Allison's nose scrunched, delighted. She could hardly believe what she was hearing these days.

"Our apartment smells delightful, at any rate, but I can't say what's gotten into him." Timmy's smile was terribly infectious; Allison had never seen him happier. They realized they'd never chatted quite so casually, and about the most unlikely of subjects.

Russell Dunbar sending home flowers, candy, love notes. Ridiculous, it all seemed patently ridiculously when compared to a reality of not so long ago.

Chip Conroy, darkened hair slicked back in a grease pit, sat on the opposite end of a conference table, watching the two of them chat away comfortably. He was sure they were up to something...he'd pin it down. He didn't like Timmy much. Hot shot around here, company pet, everybody liked the guy a little too much. Not good for the ol' Chip.

A minute later found Timmy and Allison separated, Timmy taking his regular spot beside Chip. Timmy instantly felt the irritation rising off his co-worker, and looked to him uncomfortably as he went over a stack of notes, room filling with more bodies. "Good afternoon, Chip..."

"Timir..." Chip often said it like that, his given name, as if Timmy's ethnicity were somehow an insult, perhaps even a point of contention. And Timmy did well to ignore this fact.

"Everyone here?" Timmy greeted the room cheerfully. General nods and acknowledgements. "Now, I believe Mr. Charles wanted us to drive straight into the third quarter." He opened a folder in front of him, taking to tapping against the papers there with a pen. "There seem some discrepancies in--"

"Timir Patel."

Timmy gripped his pen a touch tighter, Chip's voice grating against his brain.

"Patel, why do I recognize that name?"

"Common name," Timmy replied curtly. "Now, it appears that in the third quarter--"

"Oh, my god, that's it! Finally clicked, Patel! You were Dunbar's goon!"

Timmy's shoulders dropped, a hand to his head. "Mm...I see..."

"Yeah, everything up there went through you and then one day you just, whoosh! You drop off the face of the earth, he's got some new plebe answering phones now. What happened man, Dunbar kick you to the curb?"

Timmy sighed out in a most irritated manner, attempting to carry on with the meeting. "The fourth...excuse me, third quarter..."

"You were there what...?"

"Shut up, Chip," came a random voice.

Another voice, exasperated: "Seriously."

"Four, five years, answering phones only to get fired by a blowhard like Russell Dunbar? Why are we all listening to this guy, huh, why's he calling the shots? I mean, you've gotta be pretty low on the ol' totem pole to not live up to Dunbar standards."

Timmy resisted the urge to scream, thrusting his pen upon the table.

Several people could be heard to cough; but there came no further objections to the root of Chip's claims, this proper schoolyard bullying. Russell Dunbar was well known about town; it was rather difficult to object.

And then, a lone voice. Feminine, from the far side of the table.

"I should think it wise not to hurl insults at our work colleagues?"

All eyes fell to Allison; Timmy's quite hesitantly. There were rumors about the office. A tryst; where these things start, who knows. And suddenly, silently, the rumor spread further, like wildfire as eyes connected across a table; until at last she spoke again, creating further intrigue: "Nor should we insult the families of our colleagues."

"Families of our...?" Chip turned slow eyes back towards Timmy, face locking in confusion.

And Timmy, knowing secrets could only be kept so long from the majority, let out a slow sigh. He turned to Chip, nodded once, and spoke sharply. "I will be sure and tell my husband poste haste that you hold him in such high regard."

The confusion in Chip's brain came forth in the form of a sneer. He looked all around the room for confirmation that he was not alone in this assessment, that he had not been the last to know. Certainly the other occupants in the room appeared surprised, but refrained from such a gross display. He looked again to Timmy, who sat stoically, unflinching. "Your...your husband is, uh..."

"Russell Dunbar, yes. He'll be so pleased to hear that one Chip Conroy thinks so highly of him. You know our companies do business together on occasion, yes? Oh, well, of course you do, you were just going on about my being Mr. Dunbar's goon. Yes, I'm sure he wouldn't think of taking his business elsewhere."

"I...I, uh..."

"Oh, but don't worry, I'm sure corporate won't blame you at all for losing business ties with a blowhard the likes of Russell Dunbar." Timmy laughed lightly in Chip's face. "Now, about that third quarter..."

 

* * *

 

"Audrey...Audrey...hey, Audrey...Audrey...?"

"What?!" She had the idiots on speaker phone for the past hour. Asking the most inane, ridiculous questions, and all the while she could still hear the sounds of an ongoing lightsaber battle. She had been tempted to hang up on them, but she couldn't do that. They were the bosses, after all.

"So you already said, right," asked Tug, "that if we had all the employees start wearing hats with the company logo, that we could write that off as an expense?"

She sighed, abandoning her actual work. "Yes, Tug. Hats could, technically, be written off as a company expense."

"Okay, cool, cool. So, what if we, like...deck the hats out in...VR modules, super top of the line tech stuff. I mean, we're crunching price points over here and we're talking a cost differential of, I dunno...standard hat is what, like, three-fifty, the virtual realty number would be about--"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you riiiight about there."

"What, you're not on ball with this?"

"Ohhh, no, it's not that." Audrey forced a lilting tone and a happy smile, mostly for her own sanity, surely. "It's just that I'm currently pregnant with one child, and I have another child who will at any moment wake up and scream like it's her only job in life. And you know, I can't decide if I'm more annoyed by the sound of your voice, the swollen feet, the heartburn, or the hemorrhoids. Actually, you sound a little bit like a hemorrhoid. Did you have anymore questions about those hats?"

There came a long silence on the other line. An awkward cough. And then: "So...those hats are like three-fifty, gonna go ahead and put in...the order, and why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

"Sounds good, Tug."

 

* * *

 

"I'm out, Kev." Russell whipped a coat atop his arm, making a clear path for the exit. He was in a good mood this evening.

"Gotcha," chimed Kevin from his desk. "Good luck with Timmy, you're spoiling that guy."

"No luck required, that man is lean and mean and aims to please."

"That right?" Kevin chuckled lightly.

"You know it. Night. Keep your hands off my daughter."

"Hands empty and aching, sir."

"Excellent." Kevin waited; coast clear. His phone was out a moment later, fingers texting madly.

> KEVIN: He just left. You sending me that address?
> 
> TIMMY: Yes. Stay calm. Russell doesn't suspect a thing.

Then, an incoming text...

> EMILY: Are we still on for tonight? :)
> 
> KEVIN: Yes. :)

 

* * *

 

Timmy's post-work conversation with Russell read thusly:

> RUSSELL: off the clock and ready to roll
> 
> TIMMY: Leaving in a few minutes. Grab Chinese on way home? See you soon.
> 
> RUSSELL: get in trouble if I grab a random Chinese person. been there done that. clarify instructions.
> 
> TIMMY: haha, you're hilarious, get us food.

Timmy returned his attentions to Allison, sitting alone with him in an empty conference room. A loosening of trepidations now; they were growing comfortable. They'd been chatting for a bit, having been left alone, the last of weary stragglers this late afternoon. Slick Chip Conroy supplied them the nastiest of looks, and they had laughed about it afterwards. It all felt a bit like high school, with ranks of popularity and cliques. A bit of drama, some fun, divergence from the grind.

Allison hummed a bit; nerves. "I'm sorry for outing you and Russell...nobody else knew?"

"Mm..." Timmy sipped from a cup of coffee. He placed it down, carefully, and took to tapping rhythmically against styrofome. Distractions. "Management has known for weeks. I suppose I've not gone out of my way to hide it, but you see, it's not truly my decision."

"Russell?"

"Yes. His father is still very much unaware of..." He shook his head, drinking more coffee. "It's a mess. A mess. His mother is turning out to be quite warm, great turnabout...perhaps we should be on guard. I'd hate to see his heart broken." And all at once, Timmy felt a pang, a desire to steer the conversation away from personal matters. He looked to soft red hair and a gentle face, and recalled breaking a heart with a flippant kiss; drunken tears, insecurities, ongoing couples therapy.

And Russell was out somewhere, grabbing random Chinese people...

And she was still talking. "It seems a tad impractical, his father not knowing. Given the circumstances."

Timmy jolted to attention. "What? Oh...yes. Yes, it...yes."

"What if Mr. Dunbar were to just show up, one day? People talk."

"You're right, of course. He's in a bit of denial, I...suppose." In denial. Perhaps Timmy really ought not be here right now. Perhaps...

"What about your family?"

"My...what?"

"Your family knows?" Allison took note now of Timmy's faltering, turning to her own coffee, sipping awkwardly.

Timmy sighed out, reeling in the ever growing intimacy of the conversation. Something had drawn him back to Allison, foolishly no doubt, but in their previous time together they had seldom touched upon anything as sensitive as family. A telling truth. It seemed, now, she was rather eager to delve into personal affairs. Perhaps it was some sickly curiosity in the absurdity of the situation, still trying to wrap her head around it all. Still, he was not a sideshow to be examined, he was a human being...

"I'm sorry, Timmy, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"My sister has always known, probably before I did, she's...a pest." He forced a light laugh. He found Allison leaning in just a touch closer. "M-my parents, uhm. My mother has been very good to us, what is it she said...rather a gay son than none at all." He paused a moment, the words still holding an untouchable sort of sting. "Russell adores my mother."

"Oh, well, that's--"

"My father and I speak, but it's tense, we both know. It's always there, we're forced to avoid the topic. If we're on video chat, Russell's not to come in the room, if he does my father grows painfully uncomfortable, so...it's just easier this way. For now. We've developed boundaries."

"Oh..."

"They've resisted telling extended family for fear of ostracization. Aunts, uncles. You see, I've marked myself. My grandmother would likely be devastated. I love my grandmother, she's a lovely woman. I haven't been home in years, I haven't seen her in a very long time. I wrote her a letter, told her that I've a wonderful job. Left out all the rest. She sent me back a letter detailing how proud she is of all my accomplishments. Hoping I'd find a bride and start a family soon, what a delightful man I've become, how she remembers my childhood days. Lovely woman."

Allison sat silent. Unsure of words.

Timmy breathed deep. "What was your question?"

"Your...family..."

"Oh. Yes. My family knows." Timmy drank the last of his coffee. Slowly, he took to his feet. He adjusted his tie, grabbed his belongings, and stood for just a moment, thinking...

"Timmy...?"

He turned, walking away. "Good evening, Allison."

 

* * *

 

"Shh, shh, shh...it's okay. Mr. Nub-Nub is juuust taking a nap, you can play with...Mr. Tum-Tum! Look, look, look, Shea, you love Mr. Tum-Tum!"

Audrey sat on the floor of the nursery with a grunt, grabbing a chewy rattler that was having difficulty rattling, and it seemed, in her daughter's quite refined half-year-old sensibilities, lacked satisfactory chewing capabilities. In desperation she showed her child the replacement toy and was met with a happy grin and giggles.

"Ugh, thank you, Shea!"

"Babe?" Jeff was home.

"In here!"

He entered with a warm smile, leaning against the wall to watch the scene before him. Perfection; pure happiness. "Love coming home to my girls." But then Audrey _looked at him_. "Oh...okay, yikes. One of those days." He approached cautiously, leaning down towards her with a grunt. "What's up?"

"Tug and Barry are what's up. You know, those two are just...! I wanted to go back to work, but..."

"I take it 'I told you so' is off the table?"

"Good guess. And then...my Nub-Nub hurts all the time, my Tum-Tum feels like it's about to explode, and I still have how many more weeks of this?!"

Jeff surrendered to the floor with a further grunt, rubbing softly at Audrey's baby belly. "Well, it's worth it, huh? Cook the little guy to perfection..."

"And _okay_ , that's another thing, would you please stop comparing our future child to food! First it was your baby juice, then you told everyone I had a bun in the oven, now I'm cooking a baby roast, I know you have a one track mind, but..."

"Come on, those are just things people say!"

"If I pop this sucker out and the first thing you say is he looks sweet enough to eat...!"

"Okay, calm down, nobody is eating our baby. Baby...Derek?"

Audrey narrowed eyes in irritation. "We're not naming the baby after Derek Jeter."

"Baby J--"

"Or Joe DiMaggio. Head outta the diamond, Jeff."

They were distracted by the gentle coos of the already-cooked child, playing gleefully with the toys surrounding her. And then mommy let out a soft, "Ow."

"What hurts?" asked daddy.

"My back is just killing me."

"Where, here?" And Jeff began massaging at Audrey's shoulders, a surprising offer but not unwelcome. A relaxed sigh out assured him he was doing well, working his way down tight muscles. And that good feeling came back. This was the life...his family. Little girl playing...big girl relaxing at his strong touch. He could do this. Protect them. Really take care of--

"Ow."

He stopped a moment; then carried on to further cries of: "Ow, ow, ow, Jeff, stop, get your big ape hands off of me!"

And just like that, the moment was gone.

She looked to him, noting the disappointment in his face; her face softened in apology. "Thanks, babe, you tried." Audrey kissed Jeff softly, hand to face, and felt him smile beneath her touch.

"What if I...massaged the Nub-Nub?"

She snickered, slapping his cheek lightly. "Not a chance."

 

* * *

 

"Yeah, Mom, I know." Jen leaned against the kitchen counter, hair falling all about her. Terribly exasperated. "The wedding is still in December, I promise. No...I know we're already married. Yes, I promise this time. I sent out save-the-dates, didn't I? Well, those other save-the-dates were just...practice!"

"Heh." Adam chuckled lightly from the sofa. "We got in a lot of practice."

"I know nobody was here for our...special moment, but Mom, I told Aunt Gertie she wouldn't have wanted to, even if she could. The second half of our 'ceremony' ended up being an impromptu wedding for two men, she would have broken out in hives and scripture. Mom, I've gotta go."

As soon as the call was disconnected, Jen roared in frustration. Adam, ever calm, offered up his obvious observation: "You seem stressed."

"Oh, really?!"

"You know, you should really get out of the house. Call a friend of something."

Jen met Adam on the sofa, attempting to tame her wild hair. "What friends? Most of my friends are either still out partying like we were in college, I'm way past that, or they've gone totally domestic with kids running around. Where the heck does that leave me?"

"Well...make some new friends. You're nice, people like you."

"Yeah, right. I've tried that, every time I think I've made a friend they're either somebody's ex and I almost destroy a marriage..."

"Oh, that did happen, yeah."

"Or they're lesbians and they think I'm trying to hit on them."

"I wouldn't rule out the lesbian thing."

This warranted gentle slaps across the chest. "Adam!"

"I'm just saying, honey, it's never too late to explore new avenues!"

"Pft, _new_ avenues..."

It took Adam a moment to process the statement. "Oh...? Ohhh!" He smiled up at Jen hopefully.

"No."

"Oh." Disappointed. "Well, hey...you can always call Timmy. Think he's over the whole making friends with his ex, almost destroying his marriage thing."

Jen moaned a bit. "Yeeeah, but Timmy's..."

"What? What is Timmy? A boy? You don't wanna hang out with boys?"

"Well..."

"Hey, I'm a boy, and we hang out."

Jen sighed heavily. "When you hang out with me, I know you wanna have sex. It's a little different."

Adam looked at Jen for some time, attempting to unravel what she had just said. "Would it be better if Timmy wanted to have sex with you?"

"Oh." Jen pondered on this, finding no reasonable explanation for her course of logic. Huh. She had a friend...a _male_ friend who respected her. Who, in all his years of dangling behind the most lecherous of male specimens, had somehow failed in objectifying her himself. A safe friend. Pft, yeah! Boys and girls could play together! Why not?

"Yeah, maybe I should call Timmy."

 

* * *

 

"You know, I'm rather glad you called," said Timmy, straightening throw pillows on the living room sofa. "My head is...I can't stop thinking."

"Well, maybe I can help with that." Jen met Timmy in a friendly smile. "You don't have to tidy up for me, Timmy."

"No, it's not that, it's simply..." He couldn't help but touch random items, straightening books on the coffee table, fidgeting as he went along. "Idle hands, and what not."

"Y'know, I just realized I haven't been to your guys' apartment since I helped you move in." Jen walked slowly through the length of the living room, fingering objects she came across in her journey. "It looks nice in here, you made it a little homier...less, uhm..."

"Bacheloresque?"

"I was gonna say less sex dungeon-y." The apartment door opened, as if on cue. "Oh, look, the dungeon master."

Russell made a slow trek inside the apartment, appearing less pleased with each step. "Jennifer."

"Russell."

"Pleasure to see you. I'm lying, why are you here?"

Timmy intervened on behalf of the group. "Visiting. Friends. Remember friends? People from the outside world who feign interest in our company?"

"I recall there being...others. So, we're still doing this thing, where you guys like each other for some reason? Yuck. Whatever." A slight pout; feeling left out, perhaps?

Timmy made his way towards Russell, patting a cheek. "Thank you for the flowers. And the chocolates." He whispered in an ear: "Perhaps I'll thank you properly, later."

"Hm...you'd better."

Jen rose eyebrows, looking away with a low hum. "So, Russell?"

A grumble; damn it, he'd rather be thanked properly _now_. "Yes?"

"You mind if I borrow Timmy for awhile? Show him a good time, get him a little lubricated for ya...?"

Russell narrowed eyes, shifting focus from Jen, to Timmy...back to Jen...back to Timmy. "Ugh. Whatever. Go hang out with your girlfriend."

Timmy was prepared to offer up a bit of gratitude for the lackluster gesture, when he was sidetracked by his phone; a call. He didn't recognize the number, and so he answered with a slightly baffled, "Hello?"

"Timmy?"

In slight panic he cupped the phone against his ear, eyes widening in Russell's direction. "Uhm...y-yes...hello, just...one moment, I--"

"If he's there, I can hang up, I don't want you getting into trouble."

"I'll just...one moment, please." He held a finger up towards Russell with a small smile, addressing him now as he held the phone to his chest. "I have to take this, darling, I'll just be a moment, it's really nothing, not a bother, if you don't mind, I'll just..." He took to walking backwards, hitting obstacles along the way. "Ha, clumsy..."

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Yes, never better, darling, just...one...one moment, I'll be...right back, not...not a moment..." And he made his way into the kitchen, grasping the phone back against his ear in desperation. "Hello?"

"Timmy?"

"Allison, we agreed, no personal calls...we talked about this..."

"You make it sound as if we're having an affair!"

"We did partake of lunch together the other day..."

"In the break room. At work. You ate food, Timmy, how scandalous."

"We're talking on the phone with my husband in the next room, I'm literally hiding in order to--!"

"Timmy, calm down!" Allison's frustration was audible, but naturally, Timmy had room for concern. Should Russell grab the phone from Timmy's hand and hear the woman's voice across the line, there would be hell to pay. Allison knew. She also knew something else. "After you went home, I overheard something and I just wanted to know if you knew, because if you didn't know, I thought maybe you should know. I mean, when we spoke today, you didn't mention it to me at all, so..."

"What? What is it?"

"Franklin Dunbar is in town."

Timmy was quiet for quite some time; long enough that Allison felt the need to elaborate on her bit of news. "Your father-in-law? Russell's father?"

"Yes, Allison, I know."

"I overheard Mr. Charles, something about his being in town for the next few days on business. You didn't know?"

"No, I...Russell didn't say anything."

"Well, maybe he doesn't know, either."

"Perhaps not. Thank you, Allison..."

In the living room, Russell and Jen stood apart in uncomfortable silence. They were never the first of the gang to pair up socially, finding little to say to one another. Still, Russell had somehow risen above blanket sexual remarks regarding Jen's physique, and Jen was decidedly grateful for this fact.

"So..." said Jen at last.

Russell nodded slowly. "So."

"You sent Timmy flowers?" She scrunched her nose up with a coy smile. "You old player." She looked around the apartment. "There are...a _lot_ of flowers in here."

Russell gave a soft shrug. "Thought he needed something nice, I've been kind of a...yeah. Deserves better than flowers. Hell, deserves better than me. But, uh...he settled on me, so I settled on flowers, right?"

Jen had barely enough time to reflect on the depth of Russell's statement, the honest humanity in his half-smile that somehow endeared her to the creep, when she found Timmy by her side, fumbling nervously with his phone...and Russell rushing him, sweetness stripped away in favor of...

"Okay, gimme the phone."

"What...? Oh...ohhhh, Russell, it was nothing, I assure you."

"Worst liar ever, that was definitely something, now give me the damn phone."

And Timmy's demeanor shifted instantly to one of irritation; Jen could see an argument brewing. She slank away from the men, but said her piece: "Hey, guys, let's keep it cool..."

"I am not giving you this phone, Russell."

"This is just what Dr. Harmond's always saying, no lies, we don't keep shit from each other, who was on the phone, Timmy?"

Jen could not help butting in: "Who's Dr. Harmond?"

"Our therapist," said Timmy, "we're in...in couples therapy. Now, Russell, he also says that we've earned a certain level of trust, your trust issues have created a great deal of tension, you have accused me of cheating, you've accused me of betrayals where there have been none. Why do this to yourself?"

Russell struggled a moment; indeed, he'd found himself mistaken before. He struggled in fear of losing Timmy, a constant nagging, but Timmy had just stumbled his way into that kitchen like an idiot, and now he was double-talking him. "What are you hiding?"

Timmy hated lying...but the repercussions of the truth would be so much worse.

That's when the text came in.

And, finding him distracted, Russell snatched at Timmy's phone. The look of mild dread upon Timmy's face served as proof, surely, that he had made the right decision.

Russell read the text, and looked to Timmy as if he'd just been vindicated, as if he had his answer. "Seriously?! Behind my back, and everything!"

"Now...now, Russell, I can explain...I would have...would have told you--"

"And my own daughter...!"

Timmy's face locked in confusion; he snatched back his phone, reading the text.

> KEVIN: Picked up Emily. This is the address, right? Pierre's?

"You knew they were going out?!"

Timmy groaned, placing fingers to temple. "Ohh, Russell..."

"And you're _helping him_?!"

"I didn't want to have this conversation with you, but...she's a grown woman. You simply can't control who Emily sees. And Kevin, he's...he's not that bad, I mean, she could be dating...for example...someone like you. Yes? So when you really stop to put this in perspective..."

"You're in bed with the enemy!!"

"Okay, you know what, let's just calm down, and--"

"That's it." Russell headed for the door. "I'm going to that restaurant, I'm putting a stop to this."

Jen was quick to object. "Oh, come on, Russell..."

"You stay out of this! Just...hang out with your boyfriend, the _liar_ , I'm gonna go protect my daughter from my assistant Backstreet Boy who doesn't understand how to make copies...seriously, Kevin, BOTH sides of the document, is it really that hard?! Every damn time..."

Timmy followed Russell to the door, a pitiful last attempt at breaking through a thickening skull. "You're just going to storm into the restaurant unannounced, father in shining armor? You really think that will win her favor? I strongly advise you to think this through..."

"He's not good enough for her!! My daughter will be with someone who knows how to Xerox, damn it!!" And he stormed out, slamming the door.

Once the apartment had stopped reverberating from the strength of Russell's rage, Jen turned to Timmy, a slow, hesitant circle. He appeared a touch shaken from the entire ordeal. "You okay?" He failed to answer, and so she took a step nearer. "Did you...still wanna go out?" No response. "Hey, so...who was on the phone, Timmy?"

With this, he turned to her, feigning pleasantries, a smile leaping bright across his face. One of distraction, most assuredly, an ever more suspicious phone shoved now deep within his pocket. "Would you perhaps care for a drink? Coffee, tea?"

"Timmy..."

"Vodka, perhaps?"

"Timmy, what's going on?"

"I think I'd like a drink, yes." He turned in the direction of the bar, resting just outside the kitchen door. Jen followed him, matching a quickening pace.

"You're hiding something. Russell's right, you're a terrible liar..."

"Technically," said Timmy, picking up various bottles of alcohol in examination, "omission of details is not the same as lying. I'm merely neglecting to tell you something which is frankly none of your business." He yoinked upwards the bottle of his choosing. "Vodka straight?"

"No, I don't...really..."

"If you'd rather a glass of wine, I've a very expensive bottle we were saving for a special occasion, or the cheap garbage that will get you drunk off your feet far too quickly, take your pick."

"Seriously, if you need to talk..."

"Trash wine it is, then."

"TIMMY!" By either arm, she grabbed the man, shaking him, forcing him to look at her. And so he did, appearing now just a touch pitiful.

And in a small voice, he spoke a single name: "Allison."

Jen loosened her grip. "What?"

"It...it was Allison."

She let go of him, using a free hand to smack him in the arm. "Oh my god, Timmy!!"

 

* * *

 

"Now, we'll be fine out here," assured Jeff. He ushered Audrey into the bathroom, cradling Shea in an arm. "You go take a nice, relaxing shower and when you come out I'll make you dinner, sound good?"

"That sounds fantastic. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I washed my hair? Ugh, I've barely had time to put on deodorant, they can smell me from the freeway."

"Tell me about it," said Jeff with a laugh.

"Excuse me?" She turned with a glare; Jeff closed the bathroom door. Whew, close one.

"You just jump in that shower, honey! Get yourself under that nice hot water. Relax, take your mind off everything, it'll all be just fine." To Shea he spoke softly. "Juuuust fine...Mommy's tense."

Jeff was relieved to hear water start to run. "We don't like it when Mommy's tense, do we Shea-Shea? No, we don't. Noooo, we don't! Because when your mommy is tense, then everybody knows it." He sighed out gruffly, switching the baby between arms. "But enough about that, how's your day been?"

Shea spoke a few words which surely meant something along the lines of 'Mother's gone off the rail, Father. In other news, these fingers are quite delicious.'

"Yeah, tell me about it." Jeff turned swiftly upon hearing a high-pitched scream. "Aud?!" He whipped open the bathroom door and stared into a wide-eyed, dripping Audrey.

She stood shivering in the center of the room, clutching a too-small towel clumsily about her. "The water...is f-f-freezing..."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was f-fine and then suddenly it...was f-freezing, Jeff!"

Jeff made his way towards the shower, finding the water ice cold. Turned all the way to hot, and sure enough...ice cold. "Damn it, gonna have to call the super..."

"I...am not...feeling...relaxed!!"

On fast feet Jeff rushed out, grabbing the fastest item he could find of any help...a throw blanket, and he wrapped it now around his sopping wet wife. "I'm, uh...sorry. Listen, let me make you a nice hot meal and--"

"Oh, yeah, great, go burn me some dinner."

He accepted the insult gracefully, turning to Shea with mock insult. "I think my burned dinners are pretty good, what do you think?" Turning to Audrey: "Two against one. But I mean, if you really don't want to risk it, uh...I'll call the babysitter."

"Jeff, I'm...I'm a mess, I--"

"Run a brush through the mop top up there, slap on a tub of deodorant, good as new."

 

* * *

 

Jen sat on the far side of the living room sofa, as far away from Timmy as she could, who had positioned himself against the other side. She was angry, as though she were facing a betrayal of her very own.

On the table Timmy had placed two glasses of wine. The nice wine. A white flag, perhaps, an apology; although why he should ever have the need to apologize to Jen, of all people, was far beyond him.

"Jennifer..."

She scootched away just a touch further.

"It isn't what you think! Please, if you would just allow me to explain..."

"Why is she calling you?!"

"We've merely grown reacquainted at work, there's nothing perverse about the situation, I assure you..."

"Pretty quick to hide it from Russell."

"He still doesn't know we're working together, I fear his reaction." Timmy reached for his wine, a low groan in the back of his throat. "By god, you're not even my spouse, and I'm getting the cold shoulder. Can you even imagine?"

Jen eased her sulking a bit, looking Timmy over. "Well...if you're being honest, and I believe you, because you're being an idiot about this whole Allison thing...then why did she call?"

After a swallow and a once-over of Jen for sincerity, Timmy released his glass back upon the table. "She had information that she deemed important, information that may affect Russell. She was merely acting in what she felt a friend's best interest. However..."

" _However_ , what if Russell had found out she was calling you?!"

"I know, Jennifer. I know, I'm stupid, no need to go about rubbing it in."

"I told you working with exes is a bad idea, Timmy."

On this point he held no argument; he shifted focus towards the point, daring now to scoot closer to Jen. She held, it seemed, no objections. "Russell's father is in town. He still doesn't know that Russell's married me, he believes he's settled down with a woman named Kimmy. We've yet to face this problem in the flesh...if there's any chance at all of the Dunbar men crossing paths..."

"That's what she called about?"

"Yes."

Jen's leg shook in consideration; she reached for her wine, taking a large drink; this stood as her resignation, perhaps a slight apology. And as she sat her glass down she spoke: "Well, how the heck does his dad not know about you guys by now? You leave the company after so many years, Russell gets married to a mysterious woman named Kimmy...?"

"I don't know, dumb luck? Or maybe he does know and this is all for nothing, but Russell is...he's frightened, Jennifer. He truly believes that if his father knows he's..." Timmy wove his hand about in a circle. "You know."

"Rocking the boat? With you?"

"That he'll be demoted, or terminated."

And Jen found herself forgetting all about the ex-girlfriend equation; this was more important. She inched her way closer to Timmy, closing space between them. "I didn't think his company was like that, can they really discriminate for stuff like this?"

"Russell's father owns the company, he's sure he'd find an excuse. As if there aren't a million reasons on the book to fire him, nepotism has played more than a heavy hand in his favor thus far. And you see, Russell is afraid...he's afraid that should he be terminated from Dunbar Industries, he will in fact be terminated from his father."

Jen paused for reflection; she understood, voice growing softer, gentle in recognition of the facts. "Still, he's out at work, isn't he...? Everybody knows you guys are together..."

"Yes, which means his father is going to find out. Russell is fighting a losing battle, it's only a matter of time. It's a waiting game."

Jen found herself now in an odd position; she felt a sudden desire to defend Russell's rights, voice growing ever more demanding. "Well, he can't just let him fire him, I mean if that happens, Russell can fight it. A relationship isn't grounds for termination. So his dad pulls some bullcrap accusation out of his ass, he can still fight it, he can sue the pants off the guy!"

"Jennifer..." Timmy, ever relaxed, shook his head softly. "Franklin is Russell's father. You're still speaking in terms of a workplace dispute. We're dealing with a familial quandary."

 

* * *

 

Pierre's. Pleasant little French joint. Russell stood just outside, awaiting their arrival. But ever discrete...he found himself now lurking in the shadows...crouched behind a large potted plant. And there they were.

Emily, with that no good, rotten little punk Kevin's arm wrapped ever so delicately about her shoulders. Like they'd done this before...like they had touched one another before.

Fuming, he sent Timmy a text message:

> RUSSELL: you sent them to Pierres?? romantic atmosphere and fine dining at reasonable prices, why not just undress them while you're at it??!!

Okay, they were in the building. Just play it cool, dude, play it cool. Man, he really should have thought this through a little longer, brought a hat or a coat or something. Fake mustache? He looked so Russell-y, they'd spot him in a second.

He watched from the corridor to ensure they'd be seated before making his way inside, surveying the scene for the best hiding spots.

"Hello, sir, do you have a reserv--"

"Shh, shh, shh!"

"Uhm..." The man in the neatly-pressed suit rose a curious brow. "Can I...find you a table, then, sir?"

"Shhhhh." And there it was. Perfect view of the perpetrator, without a chance of being caught. "Behind the plant, next to the beam!"

"Uhm, sir? There are much more accommodating seating arrangements available this evening, right this way, if you'd like--"

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I said I will take the table behind the plant," he accentuated each word with a clap of his hands, " _next...to...the...beam!_ "

The poor man stared at Russell with wide eyes, and with a nod, set about leading him to his table. Under his breath he muttered, "Weirdos out in spades tonight."

 

* * *

 

Jen had finally gotten Timmy to relax a little, nearly having forgotten that she had come to him for a bit of relaxation herself. She might have foreseen Timmy supplying an extra helping of anxiety, it was certainly nothing new in recent days. But somehow, talking through the anxiety acted as a welcome analgesic for both of them.

"So then my Aunt Gertrude calls..."

"You have an Aunt Gertrude?" Timmy curtailed his giggle. Why the name was giggle-worthy was as good as anybody's guess; they were only on their second helping of wine. "Sorry, do continue..."

"I keep trying to explain to my family how we got married, and how I didn't mean to not invite them. It was going to happen eventually, most of them weren't even invited to our non-hospital wedding, but..."

"Yes, you were keeping it small," said Timmy. "I believe my invitation was lost in the mail."

Awkward silence. Jen looked to Timmy from the corner of her eyes, then, with a wide smile: "Oh, did you not get that?"

With a wide smile back: "One can never trust the post office these days."

"Well, if it's any consolation...pretty sure I ended up with just the right people at my wedding."

It was consolation enough, and Timmy's smile sank soft and welcoming. "Can you imagine your family shoving into that little hospital chapel?"

"Pft! Hey, do you think Russell would have still proposed in front of my entire family?"

"Oh..." An unanticipated question. Timmy's face contorted in thought.

"Okay, would you have still _married_ him in front of my entire family?"

"I...ahhh..." Timmy looked to his phone, which dinged upon a new text notification.

> RUSSELL: he's making goo goo eyes at her. they're eating complementery bread sticks BREAD STICKS THE MOST PHALLIC BREAD OF ALL this is all your fault!!!

"No."

There came a knock upon the front door, and Timmy rose quickly, moving on quick feet, voicing loudly upon encroaching the handle: "Yes?"

"This the Dunbar residence?"

And his hand froze. His face locked in place, eyes ever widening, and he backed away...very...slowly...

Jen, finding his behavior odd, if not ridiculous, approached him with gentle laughter. "What the heck, Timmy, answer the door..." And he rushed her, a hand falling against her mouth, muffling a cry of complaint.

"It's Russell's father," Timmy whispered, releasing Jen's mouth. "Do _not_ open the door, Jennifer."

Jen and Timmy looked to one another in a state of silent dread. So sure, they'd talked about this Franklin thing, and sure, maybe the fellas would have to face it sooner than later, but _this was rushing things a bit_.

"Hello? The doorman said somebody was home. Don't soil the good name of a minimum wage immigrant."

There was a sarcastic jab in the remark, and Timmy wasted a moment in sneering towards the door.

"Maybe he'll go away?" posed Jen.

"He won't. He'll invite himself in, and...good lord, the door is unlocked. Shall we hide? I know all the good hiding spots in this apartment, Russell and I play hide and seek sometimes..."

"No, we shouldn't--!" She paused a moment. "You play hide and seek? Okay, no time, you know what? I'm Kimmy."

"What...?"

"He thinks Russell is married to Kimmy, you need a Kimmy, I'm Kimmy."

Timmy nodded rapidly in agreement. "But...my photos are all over the walls, what are you to say, I'm such a good friend that you decided you wanted me and my family above the mantle?"

"Uhm...yes?"

"Russell's kissing me in that one!!"

"Okay, yeah, I can't explain that. Maybe...maybe you should just bring him in here and tell him everything, Timmy."

He wanted to. Desperately, he wanted this to be over with, to stop the lies, but...Russell broke so, at every suggestion that perhaps he ought to stand up to his father. Timmy'd seen him tattered, he'd seen him broken for this man. How could he simply stand up on their behalf without breaking, himself?

Timmy stood conflicted. Jen turned. "I'll go distract him in the hall, you do whatever you need to do and then get your butt hidden somewhere...seriously, hide and seek?"

"It's a long story..."

"Were you naked at the time, Timmy?"

"Perhaps, yes."

A moment later Jen stood in the hallway, running a single message over and over in her mind: _Your name is Kimmy, your name is Kimmy, your name is--_

"You must be Kimmy."

Jen laughed for no discernable reason as she met her pretend father-in-law in the hall. "That's me! Good old Kimmy Dunbar!" Her mouth pulled in slight disgust. Eww, was that her name? Really, that's what they were going with?

"Well, you're even prettier than I imagined. Russell said you were a looker. Boy, he wasn't wrong."

"Oh!" Jen's giggle was over-dramatic, leaving Franklin mildly bewildered.

She was an odd one, to be sure. "Is Russell home?"

"Oh, no...no, late day at the office. You know Russell."

"Yes, I do. Which is how I know that's a load of malarkey, he's never worked a day late in his life."

"Pft! Yooou caught me, he's out, uhm..." Jen grit teeth, searching for a lie. "Buying me...a new...toaster."

"Toaster?"

"I...love toast." She locked with Franklin in an awkward stare for just a moment, long enough to unnerve her before cracking open the apartment door in search of Timmy; the coast seemed clear. She turned back to Franklin with a smile.

"Everything all right?"

"Certainly. But enough about me, I could stand out here for hours talking about my wonderful husband Russell and my love of toasted bread, but I'm sure you'd much rather...COME INSIDE." She yelled the last bit into the apartment in the hopes of alerting Timmy...just in case.

Fortunately, it appeared he'd put his hiding skills to use upon entering the domicile. No Timmy to be seen.

Franklin took note of Kimmy's increasingly odd behavior, but chalked it up to nothing more than eccentricity. She was an odd one, to be sure. But then, that Liz had been sort of quirky as well...he knew how to pick 'em.

"Never been to Russell's apartment."

"Is that right?"

"Not a bad set up. Reserved. A little more ethnic than I'd expect." Franklin indicated a rug before him, intricate in design.

"Oh! I have certain tastes, you know," said Jen. "I...summered in the East."

"I see. So, tell me, Kimmy. How'd you end up with an old scoundrel like my son?"

Oh, crap. Jen hummed with a smile, searching the room for answers. "Ohh, you know, classic love story, really, we met...while..." Scanning the apartment. Scanning. Scanning. Her eyes landed on a porcelain puppy. Tacky, huh. But no time for critiquing the decor. "He found my dog."

"You don't say?"

"Yes, my precious...Toodles. We were down in the park and she got loose, missing for days, I was a mess. Russell found her and it's been a whirlwind romance ever since."

"Some story. So, you have a dog."

"No." Jen's smile was very much that of a porcelain doll, painted on and lost. But before Franklin could think twice, she had moved on. "The tour! So much more to see. Like...the kitchen! That's where my new toaster will go."

Jen found her efforts in opening the kitchen door rather futile, however, meeting with a great resistance. She found herself frustrated, pushing back harder. "Stupid...door." She forced a laugh. "Never works!" Then, she stopped in realization. "Uhm...stay, stay, explore! So much to see in the living room!" She watched, ensuring Franklin would begin wandering about before trying the door again; she found it give way, now, and peered inside.

"Don't let him in the kitchen," Timmy whispered.

"Why are you in there?!"

"You were coming in, I panicked! Keep him distracted, I'll make my way to the bedroom."

Jen pulled back from the kitchen, turning to Franklin with more artificial enthusiasm. "Soooo, how do you like this living room, huh?!"

"You have two glasses of wine, here."

"What's that?"

He pointed. "Two glasses, on the table."

Reasonably distracted, Timmy inched his way out of the kitchen. Tip-toeing...a little faster now...

"Oh! Yep, both mine." Jen picked up a glass.

"Did you hear something?" queried Franklin, turning head.

Timmy ducked to the floor, just behind the sofa.

"I just love wine!!" said Jen, quite loudly, drawing back Franklin's attention. "I'm a bit of a lush, you know. Glug, glug, glug!"

She finished off the glass she held, using the opportunity to carefully look for Timmy; he had risen quickly, dashing for the bedroom. He closed the door behind him with perhaps a bit too much force.

Franklin's head turned again. "You didn't hear that?"

"Me? Mm, no." She grabbed the second glass, downing the wine held there in one swift go. "I never hear anything."

In the bedroom, Timmy heaved a sigh of relief. He could breathe easily in this room. This room, which held small, intricate details of his true life...unhidden. He sat upon Russell's side of the bed, slumping forward with a low groan before turning towards his own side; more flowers on his night stand.

Those stupid flowers, everywhere in the apartment. Timmy smiled a crooked smile, moving across the bed and grabbing a single stem from the vase. He rotated the flower between his fingers, delicately. Russell was making up for mistakes, he said...a flower for every mistake he'd ever made. It would take forever, Timmy assured him. Russell promised forever was exactly how long he had in mind.

Timmy collapsed upon the bed, flower clutched upon his chest. Their world could not run on lies. They'd finally stopped lying to themselves, finding a sense of happiness in a world most maddening, and still they lied. To others. To one another. It was no way to start a marriage.

It was no way to start a life.

Jen's voice echoed in the hall: "Really, sir, the bedroom is the least exciting room in the entire apartment. You really don't want to GO IN THE BEDROOM!"

Oh, damn it. _Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

Timmy made a mad dash from atop the bed. Where?! He was a mouse, trapped in a cage. Where on earth could he...

The closet. With barely enough time to spare, Timmy secured himself within the closet, hearing the bedroom door open and feet enter. And he sat in the far back amongst boxes, hanging clothes hitting his head just so, flower still clutched firm against his chest. Breath heavy now with each...step...closer.

His phone dinged.

DAMN IT.

"You hear that?"

"Nope...nothing," assured Jen.

"I should really have my ears checked, I guess."

Timmy muted his phone, but read the text.

> KEVIN: Emily really seems to like this Pierre's place, thanks man, I owe you one.

_Yes, Kevin, so glad you're having a good time,_ thought Timmy, anger rising in his chest. It wasn't Kevin's fault, really; the world. He was angry at the world.

Before he could relinquish his phone, another text.

> JEFF: Hey, Audrey's super stressed. You seem like the guy to ask. You know any good places that are kind of classy but still cheap?

Timmy sighed out gently. Seriously, with this?

> JEFF: You know kind of like you. Budget class.

Timmy stared at the text for a long while, anger ever rising. He heard Jen giggling outside the door as Franklin continued walking the length of his bedroom, a grand invasion of sorts, and he fumed.

...Budget class, indeed.

> TIMMY: Pierre's is quite lovely. I'm sure Audrey would be quite taken with the atmosphere and the cuisine, I'll send you the address.

_Oh and also, my husband is likely to cause a terrible scene tonight at this very restaurant._

_Fuck you, Jeff._

> Jeff: Thanks, buddy, appreciate it. :)

The footsteps grew very near, and Timmy's chest hurt; he remembered now the flower in his hand. He held it very close, finding it in this moment his only true sense of comfort. His fingers gripped a petal, finding it soft and warm, and he relaxed, focused on the sensation of this simple petal. One petal of many, symbolic of a love which now surrounded him in the darkness of this stupid closet. This stupid closet which had become--

His phone lit up again, breaking his peaceful meditation, awakening him to the voices outside his refuge.

"Ah, Tennyson," observed Franklin; he'd arrived at Timmy's nightstand, clearly. "Fan of the classics."

"Uhm...yes, she's the best!"

Timmy nearly groaned aloud, but turned instead to the text upon his phone.

> RUSSELL: got visual on emily and kevin. i'm hiding behind a plant.
> 
> TIMMY: That's nice.
> 
> TIMMY: I'm hiding in the closet.
> 
> RUSSELL: k cool
> 
> RUSSELL: wait what?


	7. Come Out, Come Out

> RUSSELL: got visual on emily and kevin. i'm hiding behind a plant.
> 
> TIMMY: That's nice.
> 
> TIMMY: I'm hiding in the closet.
> 
> RUSSELL: k cool
> 
> RUSSELL: wait what?
> 
> Russell received no reply. Confused, he texted back once more:
> 
> RUSSELL: are you playing hide and seek with jen or something?

"...Sir?"

"What?" Russell placed his phone down, gazing upwards with a baffled, distant expression.

There stood a waiter, his hand poised to take notes. "Are you ready to order, sir?"

Oh. Food. Ordering food. Well, that's not why he'd come here, at all. He couldn't spy properly on his daughter and his no-good, two-timing rat of an assistant if he was busy eating.

They'd just been sitting there. Flirting. Finding excuses to touch each other...filthy! And she'd kept on eating breadsticks... _right in front of him_.

"Damn penis sticks," he muttered under his breath.

"I'll...give you a few moments, sir. Complementary breadsticks, while you decide." A basket landed in front of Russell, and he watched the backside of a rather put-out man trail off as fast as he could towards the next table.

Just as well. He'd heard giggling; sticking a fresh, erect piece of bread between his lips he poked his head carefully amongst leaves, seeking out his targets.

"Ugh, this father thing just never ends," spoke Russell through a full mouth.

 

* * *

 

Russell's father had taken a particular interest in the objects resting upon the nightstands beside his son's bed; particularly those belonging to his perceived daughter-in-law, Kimmy. While Russell's nightstand had graced him with the expected tissues, lotions, and sexual aids, Kimmy's tastes appeared a touch more sophisticated, though somewhat inexplicable, given the little he knew of her (total airhead, this one). Some decorative items, more of that...ethnic stuff. Classic literature. A neatly-bound journal and pen. A random pair of cufflinks, and a bottle of...men's cologne...

Huh. Russell's, he supposed.

He picked up a small wooden elephant, bouncing it within a palm.

Jen cringed internally, watching the figure fly up and down in the man's grasp, but kept a superficial smile on her face...until he turned it towards the underbelly.

There he found a small engraving. "T plus R..."

"OH, uhh...my nickname starts with T." When Franklin looked to her in question, she offered him a scandalous smile. "Shh...it's a secret." She winked; her stomach churned a bit, but at last he released Timmy's elephant back to it's rightful spot, and she watched as he turned from Timmy's possessions, interest waning.

"So, Kimmy."

"Yes?"

"When did you think Russell would be back?"

"Oh, it would be...just GREAT if somebody would join us, soon," she spoke towards the closet. She didn't mean to displace her upset onto Timmy, but this was too much. Franklin Dunbar was overstepping bounds, and it was far and beyond her place to judge why.

Timmy was grateful to hear voices trail off as the bedroom door closed; gone. Jen and Franklin had left the room, and he could escape the confines of this closet now in one piece. More or less.

His nerves more than slightly frazzled, it seemed he could barely get a moment's peace. But now, as his hand grazed the door to exit the closet...

Someone knocked upon the closet door. And he jumped back.

"Timmy, are you in there?" Jen spoke, hushed and urgent.

He opened the door quickly. "Is he gone...?"

"No! Oh my god, what's with this guy?! He wants to see every inch of the place! He's in the kitchen. He's probably rifling through the cabinets, gonna ask why we like Indian food so much. I can't handle this, Timmy!!"

This did, indeed, appear unusual behavior on Franklin's part. Why appear now, out of the blue, inspecting every inch of Russell's apartment? Of Russell's _life_?

Timmy turned, grabbing a sweater from upon a hanger in the closet. "This is ridiculous, go. Distract him. I've an idea." He watched as Jen dashed from the room.

For a short time, Timmy stood in the center of his bedroom, stomping feet and cursing silently. Then, smoothing himself and taking a deep breath, he journeyed carefully from the room...no one in the living room, and still he walked carefully, quietly. He draped the sweater atop a chair, then turned quickly, making his way out of the apartment.

Just in time. Jen escorted Franklin from the kitchen to the living room. "So, that was the tour."

"Well, you certainly keep a lovely home, Kimmy. Be sure and invite me over for dinner, some night, and make me something from one of those cook books stacked in the kitchen. Tandoori chicken, now there's a real winner."

"Sounds great."

"Some goofy customs, over there. But good enough people, great food. Have you seen my wife?"

"Wh...excuse me?" A strange splattering of words, an abrupt change of topics; Jen looked about the room cautiously, as if some mysterious woman may be in hiding along with Timmy.

"My wife," he said, pulling a wallet from a pocket. Opening up expensive leather, he revealed a fresh, young face atop a scantily clad body; a photo smacked in Jen's face. "Becky."

"Oh! Your wife!"

"Found her in a club in Borneo, dancing up a storm. Sweet, isn't she?"

"Pretty," said Jen. Disgustingly young and gorgeous and leaving very little to the imagination. She might have followed up on this line of conversation had he not made his way towards a chair several feet away.

He balanced his wallet atop the chair, trading it for a piece of brown woolen fabric. "Say, whose sweater is this?"

"Uh, Russell's? I...would...guess?"

"Was this here, before?" He chuckled lightly, inspecting the garment. "Now, unless my son's back to fightin' weight since I saw him last...no offense, mind ya, boy could stand to lose a few."

There came a knock upon the door. Jen, stunned in place between Franklin's words and a potentially unwelcome visitor, willed her heart to beat at a normal rate. "Oh," she said. "I guess...I'll see...who that is." Confused, cautious, she headed for the door.

Franklin's mind stood wandering, piecing together clues. Mysterious sweater, two glasses of wine, woman acting more than a little batty. If he didn't know any better, he'd wager she was up to something...

Jen opened the door.

"Hello! Kimmy!" Timmy offered her a one-armed hug in greeting, gritting teeth as all his muscles tensed in a sudden burst of anxiety. What on earth was he doing? Why was he doing this?

He could have just stayed in the closet.

Franklin took the bait. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Mr. Dunbar!" Timmy swerved a baffled Jen, easing his way towards his secret father-in-law, engaging in their first line of dialogue since he had been granted the title. This fact did not escape his heart, quickening at an ever alarming rate.

"Timmy Patel, long time no see. Haven't seen much of you since Russell gave you the boot."

"Ah...is that what happened?" Timmy kept a smile on his face, but gripped his hands together now behind his back, firmly. Perhaps he was choking Russell in his mind, just a little. Certainly, he'd been fired...that's _exactly what happened_.

"How've you been, Timmy?"

"Oh, uhm...fine? Fine. The answer is, I'm just fine, sir, thank you. And yourself?"

"Just fine, son."

Son. _Son_. Ohhh.

Timmy eyed his sweater, dangling precariously from Franklin's hand."Ah, so there it is! Kimmy, I'm afraid I've left my sweater here the other night. During the party."

"The...the party..." Jen took a moment to process the newest lie. Then: "Oh! Right! The party! That thing was _tiiight_."

"Yes, it certainly was off the hook!" And so the sweater passed between the men's hands. "I do so enjoy coming here for shindigs. To this apartment. Where I have never lived at all." Timmy cringed at his own lack of subtlety. "I mean, I would certainly love to live in such a charming place, you do keep a lovely home, Mrs. Dunbar."

Jen giggled sweetly Timmy's way, then turned with wide eyes and a heavy sigh out.

Franklin looked at Timmy with a thoughtful gaze. "Funny thing, though, you turning up here." He did not complete the thought. As though he might know something...as though...he might...

"When Timmy left the company," shot in Jen quickly, dashing towards the men, "you know, it just broke my heart. We'd grown so close, he was practically _my_ assistant."

Timmy attempted joviality as Jen wrapped an arm about his shoulder. "Oh, yes! Yes, best of friends. Russell couldn't tear us apart, if he tried." Timmy set into laughter. Jen set into laughter.

"I see." Franklin huffed out a small laugh to counter the rather superfluous laughter coming from the duo before him. "Can you believe for a minute there, I was worried our little miss Kimmy was giving Russell the old run around? Bringing some other man into his apartment?"

There came no more laughter. Timmy separated himself from Jen, drawing himself just a touch closer to Franklin, head tilting to one side. "Pardon, sir?"

"Well, I mean, nothing to worry about. It was just you."

"I...I still don't follow..."

Jen sighed, irritated. "He means because you're–"

"Gay," finished Franklin. Brash. No subtlety, no subtext.

Timmy's body tensed in frustration; he hadn't predicted how this interaction would go. He really should have. In an effort to keep up pleasantries he neither confirmed nor denied the main's claims; let him believe what he liked.

"I mean, uh...no bumping uglies for you in this place, huh, champ? Kimmy's not your type and hell, we all know Russell!" At this Franklin nearly cackled, forcing Jen and Timmy to mock light laughter as well. "Say, where do your type go for that sort of thing, anyway? Oh, well, listen to me, like I'd ever need to know! Curiosity killed the cat, am I right?"

Oh, how desperately Timmy wanted to reveal everything in that moment. _Needn't go far. As a matter of fact, I bump uglies in this place on a regular basis. I bump YOUR SON'S uglies, sir, right where you're standing, and HE FREAKING LOVES IT_.

Perhaps Franklin noticed Timmy's sudden change in disposition; perhaps there had grown a heavy tension all about the room, and Franklin, never much one for awkward silences, turned his attentions elsewhere once again.

"There's certainly a lot of flowers, here."

"Russell's been sending them home," said Timmy, voice weakening. The statement had been so forthright in tone that Franklin turned back to him in question. "Kimmy's told me."

"Yeah," said Jen, "Russell's been pretty sweet lately." A surprisingly authentic statement, forcing Timmy to look back towards her. There they were granted a moment's respite, a small smile forming between the two of them.

However, Franklin had reached a vase full of flowers now, and as was his habit today, had taken it upon himself to overstep his bounds. He had grabbed the small card nestled within the bouquet, setting about reading it. Here, Timmy took a step back, feeling Jen's hand touch the center of his back in comfort...certainly, this was the end of the lie.

Jen thought quickly. "Oh! Me and Timmy were laughing about that at the party, weren't we, Timmy?"

"Were we...?"

"How they always send flowers home to _Timmy_? Even though my name is _Kimmy_? Pft, stupid florists."

"Oh! Oh, yes! Ridiculous notion, aye? As though Russell were sending _me_ the flowers! HA!"

"Ha! Oh, my gosh, _hilarious_!"

Franklin watched as Jen and Timmy forced themselves into laughter once again over a joke that clearly wasn't as hilarious as they were making it out to be; he placed the card back amongst the flowers, a card which read: Tim Tim, Shut up. I won't stop sending you flowers. Love, Rusty.

Perhaps there was something suspicious about all of this...

 

* * *

 

"Ready to order, sir?"

"No, I don't wanna..." murmured Russell, peeking through leaves. They were laughing; their hands were touching. _Their hands were touching!_ Right in front of everybody! Get a room!

"More breadsticks, make up your mind." A basket of bread was plopped in the center of his table; a man growing ever more disgruntled walked away, resisting a grumble.

And Russell pulled himself from spy duties. He looked to the basket in disdain, pushing it away. Then, he pulled it forward, grabbing a stick with rough hands and shoving it straight back into his mouth, yanking off a rough bite.

 _Mumble mumble_ "...penis stick." Suddenly his thoughts shifted back to Timmy. Oh, yeah...he'd sounded pretty strange via text. Sidetracked, he pulled his phone from his pocket and skipped right to calling him.

The phone rang an unusual number of times. When at last he heard Timmy's voice on the other end, it was high-pitched and strained. Weird.

"H-hello?"

"Hey, babe, what the hell were you talking about, hiding in a closet? Everything okay back there?"

"Yes...everything is...perfectly fine..." Clearly not.

"What's going on? You sound more demented than usual."

"I'm just out visiting with Kimmy."

"With who? I thought you were with Jen." Russell took another bite of boner bread.

"You know... _Russell's wife, Kimmy_."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"Uhhh. Interesting fact, dearest. It seems as though Russell's fath–"

"Timmy, you're blabbering again, you know how you do that sometimes? You just go blah, blah, blah. Well, that's you, right now, so I'm just gonna push the little button that ends the call."

"No...no, I very much advise–"

"Good-byyyyeee."

"No, wait!"

"Cuh-lick." Russell ended the call, shoved the last of a breadstick in his mouth, and carried on peeking through leaves.

 

* * *

 

"Everything okay, there?" queried Franklin, offering Timmy a short smirk.

"Oh...oh, yes." Timmy shoved his phone deep within a pocket, searching for an explanation. "That...was just...my husband..."

"Oh! I didn't realize!" Franklin perked in interest. Timmy resisted shrinking in regret of ever having been born. "Somebody tied ol' Patel down, huh? And I missed it. When'd it happen?"

"Oh," answered Jen on his behalf. "About six months ago, now? I was there!" She rose a hand with a smile. "Just a...a beautiful ceremony, really. Russell was there, too, huh?"

"Indeed he was," Timmy verified.

"So, anybody I know?" Franklin was pushing.

Timmy was sputtering. He offered up details as fast as his brain could produce them. "Ahh, it was...an office romance. But you know, he does...he henpecks so. Which is why I'd best be getting home, soon. To...to my husband, Aaaa...dam." Timmy hissed out long, trying to process what his brain had just said. "Adam? Adam. Oh, dear me, well, I suppose, then, that I'm married to Adam."

Jen shot a large-eyed glare Timmy's way. "You are?"

"I am," said Timmy, looking Jen's way. "Well, you were there, Kimmy, we were all there."

"Yes, we...were," she said, smiling past gritted teeth.

"Adam Rhodes?" asked Franklin. "Same Adam?"

Hesitant nods stood as affirmation. Why the hell not? Musical partners, fun game, laughs galore.

Franklin looked in heavy contemplation. "Funny, never took him for the type."

At this, Timmy took a hesitant step nearer his father-in-law. "You know, sir, there are those amongst us whom are not so easily judged at first glance..." Franklin made eye contact. Timmy stood defiant now to the lies; he kept talking. "Perhaps...perhaps, Mr. Dunbar, even those closest to us hold more secrets than we realize..."

There came then perhaps five seconds, perhaps ten, of two men imparting silent information...it might have been a minute or an hour for how long and painful the interim truly felt. And then, as if Timmy had said nothing at all, Franklin turned, heading towards the exit. Retreat. He knew nothing.

What did he know?

"Oh, leaving so soon?" asked Jen, ever friendly.

"Whenever Russell turns back up with that toaster, you have him call me, huh? I'm in town for a few days, got some business I need him in on, ground level stuff." He got as far as the front door. "Where are you working now, Timmy?"

"Oh, uhm...William Charles–"

"Charles, hard guy to loosen up, five drink kinda guy. Sorry he stole you away, though, that's a good proposal you wrote. See you around, Timmy. Kimmy." He paused briefly, reflecting on the similarity in the names. And then he was gone, just as quickly as he came.

Timmy had sunk to the sofa a moment later, groaning heavily, hands to face.

"Damn it!" shot Jen. "I thought he'd never leave!"

"That does it, I'm leaving the country. Tell Russell I've gone to Durban."

"You're not going anywhere. What was he talking about, a proposal you wrote?"

"I don't know." And frankly, he was too overwhelmed to think further on it. Instead, he looked to two empty glasses on the table. "You drank my wine."

"He wanted to know why there were two glasses."

"Mm, I see." And so he grabbed the entire bottle, aiming to take a drink.

"Timmy, put the bottle down. How about we stay sober tonight, huh?" He did as instructed, though clearly begrudged the demand, giving her a slightly put-out look in response.

"You did tell Russell you'd get me lubricated for him. You know...for the bumping uglies. Which I never do in this place. Of course I don't." He addressed now in a loud voice the front door, where Franklin had left mere moments earlier. "Far be it for you to activate a single brain cell! How tremendous to think that your son might have the slightest interest in another man, least of all me!"

And Jen saw the most remarkable of things, a sight she would likely never again witness in all her life: Timmy Patel flipped the door his middle finger.

"Timmy!"

He sank into the sofa, shaking his hands free of the gesture. "I'm sorry, I don't do things like that." Then, on second thought: "Well, to Russell, on occasion, but ordinarily, never, I'm above such crudities, I truly don't know what I've become, Jennifer!"

Jen, resisting a pleasured smirk, sought not to tame but to provoke the beast. "So, what does it feel like? Having a racist, homophobic father-in-law?"

Timmy squirmed where he sat. "A...product of his upbringing..."

"He called Russell fat."

"Oh, did he, now?"

Jen nodded, satisfied at the defensive glare in Timmy's eyes.

"He'd have a bloody heart attack if he saw how flexible his fat son is."

Jen stifled a laugh.

"I've turned that man into a human pretzel."

 

* * *

 

Russell pulled back from his hiding place with a weak groan, anxiety getting the best of him. Emily was into this guy, there were all the classic signs. The high-pitched giggle, the sly touches. As soon as their first course had arrived, she forked salad into his mouth, and Kevin returned the gesture. It was only a matter of time until they were forking each other.

This had been enough to launch Russell back from his spy plant, sick to his stomach. He would approach them soon, confront them in a gross display of ownership, he was certain. For now, he reached for soothing bread, coming back empty-handed.

He chain-ate when he was nervous, a habit for which Timmy always subtly chided him. The breadsticks had worked, though he typically favored candies, these days.

Out of bread, Russell reached into a pocket, finding a hard candy and savoring the sugar against his tongue. Hypoglycemia had led him to replace his pocket's comfort condoms for comfort candies; a simple swap, and thus one marriage dilemma conveniently resolved (although Timmy was rather displeased with melted candy in the laundry).

It was at this point in Russell's brain wanderings that he felt eyes upon him. To the right, his head darted, and a face disappeared behind a plant.

He was being watched.

"What the...?" Just as he was considering his options, the waiter returned.

"Order or leave."

"Just bring me something."

"I'm afraid that isn't how it works...sir." The voice had an edge now.

Russell turned to him with a sigh. "Some kind of pasta, I guess...red sauce...and whatever wine stains the best."

The man had no time for arguments. Grateful for any sort of response, he turned on a quick heel.

"And more breadsticks!"

 

* * *

 

"What's this?" Jen snatched a small bag from a table near the entryway.

Timmy rose a brow from the sofa in examination. "Oh, my word, it's Chinese food. I told my obese, heterosexual husband to pick up Chinese on the way home, do you want to risk it?"

"I'll eat cold Chinese with you, I don't care, I'm starving."

"Jennifer...?" Timmy, finally choosing to stop his slumping and spring back to life, approached Jen now on light feet.

"Yeah?"

"I really...I owe you a debt of gratitude, what you did back there with Russell's father was far outside your comfort zone and for that I'm truly appreciative."

"Oh, pft. That? That was a mess...geez, I don't know how he bought any of that crap." But Timmy had already approached her, appearing a touch emotional, if not unnerved by the entire ordeal. "Hey, uh...Adam. Really? You stole my husband."

A light smile. "You stole mine."

"Hey, you can have him back." Jen was caught off guard by grateful arms wrapped around her. Friendly, comforting, and for a time she held Timmy back, for he was warm and unassuming and she felt safe here. In this gesture she could sense his fears and insecurities; a moment of honesty between friends, released now in a silence that grew awkward as bodies parted ways.

Timmy pulled back, rubbing his neck; he looked to the bag in Jen's hand. "I could warm that up."

Jen shrugged. "Live dangerously."

"Mm...I'm all for a walk on the wild side–"

"Pft, no, you're not!"

Timmy side-eyed Jen with a click of his tongue. "I'll eat the Chinese, but the way this evening has transpired, I believe a bit of relaxation is in order."

"Okay. Have any good movies in this joint?"

"Oh! I've just purchased a lovely collection of silent films from–"

"Russell have any good movies?"

"Hmm, yes." Timmy wove Jen over to a far wall and several cabinets, marked with small plates. Drama, Musicals, Comedy...

One large cabinet was labeled simply XXX.

"When I first moved in," said Timmy, "these labels were vastly different."

"How?"

"You really don't want to know."

Jen looked to Timmy curiously.

He moaned out softly. "Yes, well. Entirely pornographic. You know, 'Barely Legal,' 'Food Orgies,' 'Giantess,' complicated labeling system..."

"Wait..."

"I had set about digitizing the entire thing before I ever quit him, and this triple-X cabinet?" He tapped the large wooden door. "Used to take up...entire...walls..." He went glossy eyed, as if having a terrible flashback.

"Ugh. Can't you make him get rid of it, now?"

Timmy coughed a little, coming back to present day. "No, it's...we can...keep a few of them. What's in the normal films?"

Jen's eyes were fixated on the triple-X cabinet as she made her way towards the less sexually explicit selections, morbid curiosity knocking at her brain...

"Jen?"

"Sorry, sorry, I just...it's so big..." She opened a cabinet, allowing her hand to grab a title at random. She looked to her grab-bag selection with a broad smile. "Hey, Dirty Dancing!"

"Oh." Timmy sneered. "He's always trying to get me to watch it."

"Russell _likes_ Dirty Dancing?!"

"I'm sorry, it just doesn't seem my...cup of tea?"

"Make a cup of tea, we're watching Dirty Dancing."

 

* * *

 

Audrey surveyed her surroundings with a soft sigh. "Gotta hand it to ya, Jeff, ya picked good. Why haven't we been here, before?"

"Nice little out of the way place. I do my research, been saving it for a special occasion. You just look that menu over, pick out something nice." Jeff looked over his own menu; true to Timmy's word, everything within budget. Of course it was, Timmy wasn't dining high class, this was just the kind of place the guy would utilize. Good thinkin', Jeff. He smiled back at Audrey. "Nothing's too good for my lady."

Audrey placed her menu down. "Think I'll have the..." She grew distracted by a laugh nearby, turning her head to view another couple. Turning back to Jeff with a smile, she was no better than a gossiping schoolgirl. "Oh my gosh, isn't that Russell's assistant?"

"Who, New Timmy?"

"He has a name, Jeff! It's...Calvin. Or Clark, or something. And he's here with Russell's daughter."

Jeff turned towards the table several feet away. Sure enough. He returned to Audrey with a crooked smile and a chuckle. "Idiot."

"Who, me or what's-his-name?"

"New Timmy. Russell's gonna kill the punk. Y'know what, just a minute, this could be fun..."

Audrey was not the least bit pleased to watch Jeff take to foot. "Jeff, they're on a date, be nice. What am I saying? We are on a date! Jeff!" No use. He was gone. She'd come here to relax...it wasn't working.

"How are the lovebirds, this evening?"

Kevin looked up with a smile. "Oh, we're just..." Smile dropped. "Mr. Bingham!"

Jeff enjoyed a bit of panicked flailing on Kevin's part before placing his mind at ease. "Down, boy, boss man didn't send me. Emily, you look nice this evening."

"Thank you." She smiled politely, placing a comforting hand to Kevin's arm. "Calm down."

"Listen, Mr. Bingham," pleaded Kevin, "Emily and I have been out a lot this week..."

"Oh, a lot, is it?" Intriguing.

"So if it's hush money you want, I really can't afford it...he barely pays me enough to breathe!"

"Don't worry about it."

Kevin leaned in, serious. "Like, seriously, you're his friend...I think...can you talk to him about that? I enjoy breathing..."

Emily's hand crawled slowly up Kevin's arm, resting finally on his face. "Calm down. I have my ways with Russell, I'll see what I can do."

Their eyes met...soft smiles followed, a moment frozen in time in which they both forgot where they–

"STOP TOUCHING HIM!!"

All eyes turned towards the source of the voice. Leaves rustled. Jeff had recognized the voice; that familiar, nasally little voice. Abandoning the lovebirds, abandoning his wife, he made a straight line towards the source of the command.

There, he found Russell hunched over in hiding, frantically unwrapping a hard candy.

"What the hell is this?"

"Shhh! Get down!" Russell pulled at Jeff's suit jacket, ensuring he would sit.

"Are you spying?"

"In a word..." He popped candy in his mouth. "Yes."

"Do I need to call your handler?"

Russell continued opening candies as he spoke. "Timmy knows I'm here."

"Russell, you can't just spy on your daughter."

"You say that now 'cause yours is still in diapers, all ga-ga and goo-goo. Give it a few years, have her fondling some doofus who always puts too much creamer in your coffee, you'll change your tune."

Jeff took pause; valid argument. Adult Shea dating was a terrifying prospect. Still. "You look like an idiot, hunched over here like freakin' Gollum...and stop unwrapping candy, you've got a dozen of those things in your mouth by now. Seriously, this feels like a 'let's wring it in' moment, and this is coming from someone who genuinely doesn't give a crap."

"Shhh!" Russell turned his head to the side. "He's listening..."

"Who's listening?"

"Some guy's spying on me."

Jeff could do little but stare on in disbelief, eyes narrowing, face panging in confusion, when there approached a waiter with Russell's order.

And Russell, spitting out a mouthful of candy into a palm in order to voice his grievances, did so with little discretion. "You call this sauce red?! I asked for _red sauce_! I'm on a mission, here. Whatever, just...another glass of wine. You know what, the whole bottle. I'm good for it."

Jeff watched the waiter go. He watched Russell carefully poke at his plate, but never take a bite, choosing instead to nervously return candy to his mouth. Jeff looked then in the direction of the second spy, curious and confused.

And so he abandoned this scene, walking slowly back towards his partner, who appeared underwhelmed upon his return.

"Hello, Jeff. How nice of you to join me for our date." No response. He seemed lost in thought. "Jeff...? Jeff!"

"Son of a bitch," said Jeff at last. "Patel bamboozled me."

Timmy had sent them here, knowing Russell would be spying on the kids, waiting for the perfect moment to cause complete and total destruction of their pleasant evening. No good, rotten little gentlemanly bamboozler!

 

* * *

 

"Anymore of the fried rice?" inquired Timmy.

"Trade you for whatever the stuff is with the orange sauce."

Timmy agreed to the trade.

"So," he posed between bites, eyes glued to Dirty Dancing, "what is it about this film that's garnered such prestige, precisely?"

"I dunno," said Jen, "people like it."

Timmy seemed underwhelmed, but something in his face told Jen he was holding back for show. She smirked knowingly. "Okay, so...there's the budding romance between Johnny and Baby, right, but it's also totally sexy. Women eat this stuff up. Keep watching, right here."

The song Love is Strange began to play on screen. A dance rehearsal. Two lovers crawling towards one another on the floor. Hands embracing one another's bodies, but ah, in a dance of passion...a tease. The moment cut off by an intruder, right at the height of sexual tension.

"Jennifer Grey crawling on the floor, now tell me you're not into that."

Timmy's eyes grew ever wider; he cleared his throat. "She's...an attractive woman," he said, crossing his legs a touch tighter.

"Okay," said Jen with a smirk. "Swayze, then? I mean, given your choice in men, maybe he's not exactly your type..."

"Attractive individuals," he said, voice rising, "they're both highly attractive and the film is decidedly arousing. Are you happy, Jennifer? I've admitted it. Are you quite pleased?!"

They met eyes, and Jen suppressed a laugh. "Yes."

"Intriguing film." Voice relaxing, Timmy returned to the screen. "Let's keep watching, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

"I feel as though we're being watched," said Emily at last. The feeling had been nagging her all evening, and she'd resisted saying anything, but she couldn't stand it any longer. She finally had to speak up.

"I only have eyes for you," said Kevin past an empty plate, smiling softly.

She smiled back, pushing hair behind an ear. "Awh, Kevin!" Oh, but wait. She turned, sure she sensed something. "No, really...there's been eyes on us all night. Like us eating was the most fascinating thing in the world. You fed me a bite of your linguini and a voice over there went...'Aha!' Then somebody else...over there...yelped when I sounded a little too turned on by the linguini. There are people heavily invested in this meal and _it's not us_."

"I'm not invested in the meal, at all. Only invested in you, babe."

"Reel it in, Kev!"

With a sigh, Kevin looked to both spots Emily had pointed to; he may have seen leaves shuffling. "Well...give 'em a good show, give them something to react to. A little test?" He leaned across the table, seeking a kiss.

Well, he wasn't taking this seriously at all, and despite his thinly-veiled guise at playing along for a bit of lip candy, he was right. It may just bring their spies out of the woodwork, at that.

And so Emily leaned across the table, connecting lips with Kevin.

There could be heard somewhere a sudden sobbing.

 

* * *

 

"Ahh, geez," spoke Jeff, just under his breath. "Now he's crying..."

"You want dessert?" asked Audrey.

Jeff groaned in apprehension. "Got that pie in the fridge at home, fridge pie is good."

Audrey sat down her menu, decidedly unconvinced on the quality of fridge pie. "Uhm. I'd rather order something...since when were you so quick to pass up ordering dessert, hon?"

"How's Shea? You think Shea is okay? C'mon, get those mom juices flowin'. You really trust that babysitter? What's her name, Brandy? Probably _drank_ all the brandy. Invited over her boyfriend...Chad. Chad, who's fond of scotch."

"Shea is fine, Jeff...the babysitter has direct orders to text me every hour, and–"

"Bet she didn't."

"Sure did," said Audrey, presenting her phone.

Jeff groaned, shaking in frustration.

"Okay, what's going on? You brought me out here to relax, and all you've done tonight is leave me alone, or ignore me for god knows what. What, is there...a game tonight?"

"No..."

"Restaurant flooded with attractive women, can't keep your eyes to yourself?"

"What?! No! Now you're just gettin' loony..."

"Well, what is it, Jeff? What could possibly be so distracting that you can't focus on _dinner_?!"

Leaning forward, he spilled the beans: "Timmy bamboozled me," and faced a woman full of confusion. What did Timmy have to do with anything? What had he done to Jeff? What the hell was her idiot husband talking about now?!

Not long ago, Jeff had texted Timmy the same simple declaration: _You bamboozled me._ Timmy had not bothered to answer. He was far too heavily engaged with Jen in the latter half of Dirty Dancing, jaw agape as he watched figures dance across the screen, to look upon his phone at all. My word, that Patrick Swayze was certainly a well-built fellow.

Jeff pointed back towards Emily and Kevin. "Timmy knew those guys were gonna be here, but he knew something else..." He pointed towards the sounds of weakening sobs.

"What is that?"

"Timmy's bamboozle."

"Well, what's Russell doing here?"

"Spying on Dunbar Junior and Timmy-in-waiting. Not just that, but there's some guy spying back on Russell, and if we don't get out of here in, oh, right now? Something's gonna hit the fan. There's no way that little beanstalk Patel sent us here and didn't know this nonsense was in the works."

"Wait, what do you mean Timmy sent you here?"

Jeff sighed out a bit, leaning against a hand. Of course she'd picked up on the pertinent information in his little story. Naturally.

"I thought you were 'saving this place for a special occasion'?" Silence; there it came, that guilty face, pulled taught, caught in the lie. "Jeff!"

"That doesn't matter right now!"

"I'm just a little tired of your lies, Jeff. This place is nice, would it have really hurt for you to have just said that Timmy suggested–"

"He suggested we walk into a trap! Look, I owe you a night, okay? I owe you a great big magical night full of sunshine and rainbows and...awh, crap."

"What, 'awh, crap'?"

"Strange guy, moving in on Russell..."

 

* * *

 

Russell sat back with a pout, drying eyes with a sleeve; he took another swallow of wine straight from the bottle. The expensive wine didn't taste as expensive as it should have, he thought, but then his tongue was coated with a layer of anxiety-candy.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't made a move, yet. Wasn't that why he'd come down here? He'd made a big, impassioned speech to Timmy about nobody touching his daughter, he'd spent the evening watching a punk touch his daughter, and now here he sat, stuffed full of Italian food and popping endless sugar to sooth his fragile ego. Yet, he'd failed to do the one thing he'd set out to do. He hadn't approached them.

Oh, he'd wanted to. Walk right up to them, crazy father with a vendetta...dump that plate of spaghetti over Kevin's head, complete with the reddest of red sauce dripping down his smug little face like blood. Oh, it would be beautiful! He'd failed, though, and eaten the spaghetti in a blind fit of rage, along with Kevin's blood sauce. Damn it all.

He wasn't sure what had stopped him, in the end. Perhaps it was how happy she looked. Perhaps it was a growing sense of guilt, brought on by that stupid nagging British voice echoing in his brain like a drill...god, his stupid, stupid, voice!!

"Who the hell are you, and why are you watching Emily? Get up." No, that...that wasn't Timmy's voice at all, who...? "You heard me, get up."

Russell looked up towards a harrowing figure of a man. Tall, dark, well-dressed, clean-cut...slender, but just well-built enough to be intimidating.

And so he took to feet, finding himself to be...something the opposite of all that. He'd taken off his suit jacket ages ago, untucked his shirt and stood now slightly unkempt from nerves, making every effort to sleek back his hair and puff himself up, whatever little good it did.

"Dunno what you're talking about," said Russell. "But uh, think it's best if you head for the hills."

The man laughed lightly. "What is this, a stand-off? Listen, all I want to know...creep..." He shoved light against Russell's chest, forcing him backwards. Enough to intimidate. "...is why you're spying on Emily. You'd better have an answer."

"Well...well, if you know I'm spying on her, then you must be spying on her. So, uh...so why are you spying on her?! Huh? Creep?" Russell pushed against the other man's chest. He didn't move. At all.

Naturally, the other man took this gesture with grace and dignity; he shoved Russell back, again. This time, the push resulted in some force, sending him out of his hiding spot. He quickly retreated back to his table, sputtering in fear. "Don't do that, man, she could have seen me!"

"Maybe she should see you! Who are you, anyway, huh? Some predator? Spying on young women, is that how you get your jollies?"

"No! Well, there was a phase..."

"Listen, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm calling the police."

It was then that Russell made his biggest mistake; his hand reached for a glass of wine upon the table. "Y'know, I was saving this for somebody else, but...eh, you're getting on my nerves."

The red liquid flew...flew...flew...out of the cup, landing square against the chest of the other man. This man, who looked down upon Russell with a firey rage.

"Oh, it's on, little man."

There began the scuffle; two men in a tangle, arms strewn about, fighting for dominance. It was a dance Russell could not win, and as he was pulled from his hiding spot, hair yanked in a violent fit, arms bruising from the force of a man defending the honor of an innocent woman, the woman in question took to her feet at the sight of them.

Indeed, the whole restaurant was now audience to the scene, Binghams not withstanding, Jeff voicing a chipper: "Nice, relaxing evening," as he took to his feet.

Kevin rushed to join Emily as she stood, eyes locked in horror at the scene. And at last she screamed the words that she prayed would end the violence, once and for all: "Dad, stop!"

Both men turned to Emily, locking eyes upon the woman. Both men shrank shamefully, and together replied: "Sorry, baby." The men turned to one another, eyes narrowing.

"You're him," came a voice steeped in anger. "Russell Dunbar?" His laugh was nearly crazed.

Emily rushed the men now, fearing the worst; fears justified, she watched the arm swing. She watched the fist hit. Russell was on the ground before she could say another word.

Kevin, dazed, turned now to Emily. "Did...did your dad just hit your other dad?" He watched her face sink to her palms, and she let loose a deep groan. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close in comfort. "Yeah, that just happened."

The Binghams stood beside them a moment later. Audrey shooshed Emily, who threatened tears. "It's okay, we'll peel him off the ground."

With a smile and a chuckle, Jeff leaned in close to Kevin. "Maybe I'll give Tim a pass on this one. Dinner and a show, not bad."

 

* * *

 

Adam was watching his favorite new show, Hide and Prejudice. Naturally, it was about a clan of Victorian-era werewolves, and the latest episode had introduced a new villain in Jean Claude, a terrible fiend who aimed to deceive the beautiful heroine of the piece, Genevieve, who was really in love with Laurence but was under a Spell of Confusion. Jean Claude was also a wizard. a Werewolf Wizard.

You had to be there.

He was on his fifth tissue (he had been crying, naturally), when he reflected aloud: "Boy, Jen is really missing out."

 

* * *

 

"More tea?" asked Timmy.

"You liked the movie, right?" Jen followed Timmy to the kitchen, hungry for a response. He seemed somewhat reluctant to admit to enjoying himself as he prepped the stove for tea.

"It was an interesting film," he admitted. "Well choreographed."

"You should try it more often," said Jen through a smile.

"What? Try what?"

"Dancing! Do you even dance? You're tight like a drum, I think you need to loosen up a little." She wove him forward.

"Oh...no, I don't think–"

"C'mon, show me your best moves."

"But...I am making tea...."

Jen moved the short distance across the kitchen, turning off the stove. Oh. Well, rude. "Bet Russell's dad doesn't dance."

Timmy groaned low, from the back of his throat. "You're not playing fair."

"Probably thinks it's sissy stuff. For all those gay clubs you frequent. That's 'where your type goes,' right? He wanted to know all about it, too bad you didn't tell him. What'll he do, tonight?" She knew how to push buttons, as Timmy turned towards her now with a nod of his head, defiant gleam seeping through his eyes. "Come on, like this." And so she approached, her hands suddenly upon his hips. "Russell wanted you lubed up, right?"

"Awkward vernacular," he mumbled, given the sudden circumstances. Rather cramped quarters, the kitchen, and she was being a touch handsy. Perhaps the extra wine, cold Chinese, and viewing thrusting hips on celluloid had somehow created an animal.

Two could play that game, proven by a circular grinding of hips and a shove away, out of Jen's grasp. She squealed in delight as Timmy's body fell into movement, slinking naturally, rhythmically, as if his torso and his shoulders just _did_ that, and he spun around on light feet, setting the stove again for tea.

"Timmy!"

"I've had a bit of practice..."

 

* * *

 

Russell was touching a bruised face, hissing in pain when the Binghams approached, just outside the door of the restaurant.

"Hey, you let your nerd know he may or may not be on my hit list."

Flippantly Russell shrugged a shoulder towards Jeff. "He was right..."

There was a certain melancholy in Russell's voice; enough for Audrey to enter mother mode, walking around to face Russell. "Right about what?" Jeff groaned in irritation, tapping his watch.

"Can't even get it right with a grown kid, I could never..." He looked down and away. "Nothing." To Jeff: "We get it, it's late, stop tapping your damn watch!"

Audrey sighed out in irritation. "I'd better get him home before he starts counting seconds out loud. You want annoying?" Her wave goodbye was friendly, for she felt he had earned such a gesture. When she was far enough away for comfort, she hit Jeff against the chest with some urgency.

"Ow...what are you hitting me for? Should be hitting Russell, he screwed up your relaxing evening."

"He wants a baby."

"What? Who?"

"Russell...I think he wants a baby."

"Whose baby, what are we talking about?" Upon realizing his wife was not speaking gibberish, Jeff looked back upon a pacing, miserable looking Russell. "No." Oh, this night was just too good. He'd collected so much ammunition against Dunbar, he was locked and loaded, just let Russell cheer up a little bit, and...

"I see that look in your eyes, play nice." Audrey, the eternal killjoy. He watched her hail the cab, silently resenting her, resenting the Dunbar-Patels, and resenting the entire evening. Still...locked and loaded.

A few feet away lingered more misery.

"My parents keep hitting Russell," said Emily, very monotone. "I think it's how they say hello." She sat upon the curb, just outside the restaurant. Eyes forward, watching a busy street flicker with the lights of moving cars. Perhaps she'd hail a taxi and leave. There went one...there was another. She nearly stood, seeing her exit out, when Kevin, sitting slouched beside her, broke her concentration.

"Jerk was spying on us."

"They were both spying on us," she said, as if in Russell's defense. In all reality, she could not have been more frustrated with both her fathers in this moment. Man children, insistent on controlling her.

"Yeah, about that..." Kevin looked cautiously past Emily's shoulder. Some distance away stood her father, Roger, pacing unevenly as he spoke on the phone. With her mother, no doubt. Kevin whipped his head to the other side to find Russell, pacing a great deal more slowly, arms folded against his chest, watching the ground. Deep in thought, it seemed. "How'd this happen, anyway?"

"I told my dad... _that_ dad..." Pointing to Roger. "That I was going out, tonight, and..." Emily groaned out weakly. "I'm so sorry. My parents are really trying to wrap their heads around this whole thing with Russell, but you've gotta understand that he's been out of my life for...well..."

"Your whole life?"

"Yeah. My mom's warmed up to the idea since she punched him the first time..."

"Seriously, what's up with your family? Everybody's breaking out in fist fights or banging their assistants, it's like a bad soap opera up in here."

Emily groaned again, hand pressed firm against her face. "Listen, there were just a few...reservations about seeing you. Weird stuff, I think my dad's afraid that...as Russell's assistant...you may be just like him."

Kevin's laugh was enough to attract the attention of both men pacing the lawn behind them; just long enough to supply crooked looks, then drift back away. Still, he shrunk down in protection, just a bit.

"Yeah..." Kevin hit Emily playfully in the arm. "Yeah, because all of Russell's assistants are exactly like him?"

Emily relaxed a bit; smiling, even. "I'll be sure and let Timmy know he's exactly like Russell, he needs to laugh more."

"You know what, he used to exclusively hire female assistants. I'd hate to see the guy in woman form."

Emily motioned towards Russell. "You mean that's not already him in woman form?"

Oh...decidedly sarcastic, snarky. Kevin's eyes widened a bit in realization. "Wait...are you him in woman form?"

There followed a moment of shared snickering, broken shortly by a figure sat to Kevin's side. Russell, eyes ever on the ground. He didn't speak at first, merely sighing nervously, seeking words.

Emily spoke for him. "Russell? Dad, it's okay..."

"I'd like a word alone with Kevin."

Emily began to spit her words. "Hey, it's all my fault, I seduced him, you don't have to fire him, I'll never see him again, I swear..."

"Emily!" Russell eyes bore sharp against her; message received. She looked around, seeking refuge; other father still off limits. And so she hoisted herself from her place upon the curb, walking some distance away. "I'll just...I'll be over...over here, someplace."

Russell watched her go; she began wearing a track in the ground in the same spot he had previously occupied.

Lots of pacing going on, tonight.

"Sir...?" Kevin sought a response from Russell, receiving none. "Sir, I'm so sorry. She's right, though, it's all her fault, she seduced me with her feminine charms. Much...like...the charms you possess, sir. Masculine, though. Very masculine, not feminine. Your charms, I mean. That's why all the ladies want you and all the fellas wanna be you, am I right?" No reaction from Russell. "And also all the, uh...the fellas want you, too...?"

"Shut up!" Russell turned to Kevin, watching him shrink. "God, you just blab and blab, you're like the blab monster from Blabsville." He took a deep breath. "And so what if I'm in touch with my feminine side? No shame in that."

"No, of...of course not, sir." There came a long, lingering silence. It felt as if Russell was waiting for something; Kevin filled the air with the only words he felt were missing. "I'll have my desk cleared first thing Monday morning."

Russell's sigh was loud, hands wringing together in frustration.

"Or I can go to the office tonight. I can be out of your hair in an hour, you'll never have to see me again..."

"Knock it off."

Kevin clamped his mouth shut, daring not speak another word. He had nothing left to lose, really...but he found Russell the opposite of intimidating in this moment. He appeared decidedly soft, and so Kevin managed one meager, "Sir...?"

"So you liked a girl. Snuck around a little to avoid the boss. Like I've never done anything stupid when I liked somebody?"

"Mm. What have you done?"

"Mean aside from run like a coward as soon as she's asleep? Wanna count how many times I chickened out on a good thing?" Russell kicked a foot against the curb, breaking up a clump of dirt. "Nah, when I like somebody...I mean when I _really_ like somebody, I go full idiot. Like you, you're an idiot, sure, but me? I'll...butt in where I'm not invited. Hang around until they're sick of me. Treat 'em real scummy, y'know, little of the old ponytail in the inkwell shtick."

"Stalk them...?"

"Yeah, well..."

"Marry them?"

"When all else fails, sure." Russell looked behind him, towards Emily. "Getting late, you should...get her home, I guess."

Kevin, upon failing to answer, surrendered to incoherent mumbling.

"I'll see you Monday, Kevin."

"What, that's...that's it? I'm not fired?"

Russell looked back to Kevin, his face empty but soft. "See you Monday." He watched as Kevin smiled that quirky, crooked smile. An annoying, youthful smile that he hated just a little, and he heard him dash towards his daughter, knot growing in his stomach.

He really couldn't blame Emily, at all. A sweet, crooked smile had been his downfall, as well. He promised himself that his next assistant, should he make it so long, would be an elderly spinster of a woman who lived with twelve cats and held no further interest in romantic pursuits.

"Dunbar?"

Damn it. Russell peered up slowly, hesitantly towards the source of his bruised face and worse still, his bruised ego. He really wasn't interested in conversation.

"I spoke with my wife, she...had words."

"Uh-huh." Russell shuffled uncomfortably against the curb, itching for escape. "She's not exactly my biggest fan, so..."

"Not mine tonight, either. Listen, I shouldn't have hit you."

"Wife did the same thing when she saw me, again. Just how you people shake hands, it's whatever."

At this, Roger sat upon the curb beside Russell. A swift, aggressive motion, and he leaned in just a bit too close. "Emily's watching us. Play nice." He huffed as he pulled away, facing forward and loosening his tie. "Gave you a real shiner, there." He extended a smile; perhaps a backwards peace offering?

Russell touched his bruised face softly. "Hss. Yeah, well, uh...got some good throws in on ya, huh?"

Roger laughed, stating bluntly: "No."

Russell turned away a sour look.

"Listen, Dunbar..."

"Mm."

"Been on Emily's bad side for months, ever since you showed up."

Fair enough; but Russell was tired. He was no scapegoat. "Dude...I don't know you. I've never met you, if you're having issues with your family..."

"Right. _My_ family."

"Okay." Russell nodded, head turning down in surrender. He saw where this was going; he didn't want to play this game.

"Y'know, I was there for her, Dunbar. Scraping by. Where were you, huh? In your little...ivory tower?"

Russell forced no objections, merely holding his face in his hand, waiting his turn.

"You come waltzing back in here all high and mighty, Mr. Inheritance. Meanwhile, I work for my money!"

"Okay, this is fun. It's Roger, right? Listen, we both came here tonight for the same reason. To protect Emily, so..." Russell turned, offering a hand. "Truce?"

"To protect her from guys like you."

"Ouch. Woah, okay, this is...getting a little off-track..."

"Who's going to protect her from you, huh? Playboy socialite. Left Jessie, left Emily, left me to pick up the pieces. I love those two more than life, you know that? Where were you? You leave women left and right, I hear you married a woman young enough to be your daughter. Your previous assistant, and now this one is after Emily? Disgusting. How long until you're sick of your wife and onto your next piece of tail, Dunbar?"

Loud. Russell's hands, smacked one against the other, and hard; it was all he could think to do, aside from smacking the man to his side straight across the face. But he'd silenced him long enough to get a word in edgewise. Still, he dared not look upon the man for fear of retaliation, staring instead at his own feet.

An irritated chuckle came first. Then, a deep breath to center, and a slow count to five to calm frayed nerves. Finally, Russell trusted his voice.

"When Emily found me...I was scared. Shitless, scared shitless, and then I felt good. I had somebody out there...who cared enough to come looking for me. She did that. And I didn't even know she existed, Jess never told me. Pretty hard to leave somebody you don't know exists."

"That's not the way she tells it."

"Your wife had me pegged a long time ago, you've got me pegged right now." Russell folded hands together, tight. "So yeah...I married my assistant, stop the presses. You wanna talk love? More than life, sure, I get that. I'd do anything for him, dude. You'd do anything for your family?" Russell turned now to Roger, eyes meeting eyes at last, intentional and intense. With a gesture towards Emily he posed: "You'd do anything for her?"

And with this, all walls crumbled; the man had lost his footing.

"Of course I would..."

There followed the cold, dead silence of two men who may have just found a connection. Neither could find the words to follow up these declarations; they would do anything for her. And so it seemed a truce was in order, a natural parting of ways, until a soft voice filled the silence.

"Are we all friends?" The question was delicate, as if it may break. The men turned behind their shoulders towards a fragile looking Emily. "Just me. I sent Kevin home. Without me. So...we're good, huh? Friends?"

It was easy to forget sometimes she was a full grown woman, for in moments like this she infantilized herself so for men intent on keeping her young. She chewed a lip, she shuffled feet nervously, she just wanted everyone to play nice...but then, the blond-haired man seated just below her, declumping dirt beneath his shoe knew a thing or two about retreating to a childlike state. Perhaps it ran in the family, at that.

"Emily–" Roger aimed to repair too many broken pieces in too few words, for her face was pleading so.

And so Russell stood now, cutting him off. "Just leaving. Don't worry, we're all cool here."

"That's a lie," said Emily, point blank in Russell's face. His stare-down was scolding, and she backed off just a little. "Russell..."

"Yeah, around him, it's Russell, right?" He understood her hesitation. One father in this joint, tonight. Still, he'd come this far to just be tossed aside like that?

"I'm sorry, I just..." Emily looked to Roger, standing now to join the scene.

A scene that made his stomach churn. Two people who looked a touch alike, the similarities now jarring. His daughter and the other father; the lady with the tramp.

Roger spoke to Emily. "Your mom left out a few things, but that doesn't make him clean." He took a step away, then turned back. "A husband, seriously? What's your husband's name?"

Emily answered. "Timmy. He's very nice."

"Yeah, well...dumb name." Juvenile, but the swiftest, most innocent of taunts the man could muster on a night like tonight; a parting gift. He turned and walked away without another word.

"He's just angry," assured Emily. "Timmy's a great name."

"I didn't know we could bring spouses into this," said Russell. " I mean, uh...he's married to Jessie. What, he wished he could be Jessie's girl?"

"Russell!"

"What?! He's not fighting fair!"

But she smiled, just enough. "Hey, uhm, I'd better...go with him..."

"Yeah, I get it."

She placed a hand against his arm. Softly, lovingly. "So...at first I was angry. Then I downgraded that to frustration, and then...hey, so anyway, I just want you to know that I get it. Thanks for coming here tonight. Sorry about your face." She planted a soft kiss against his cheek. "I love you, Dad."

He watched her turn a quick heel. He watched her go; and he shrank back against the curb, face in hands, realizing just how alone he truly was. Lights from cars passed by, each a stranger in the night.

And his phone lit up, two texts in the darkening night. He rose a curious brow, confused at the cryptic messages.

> JEN: Timmy's lubricated. Where's the toaster?
> 
> JEN: Seriously. What a deadbeat husband. You were supposed to be home with that toaster hours ago!

The next message piqued Russell's curiosity just enough to move him to his feet, towards a cab.

> TIMMY: I have a proposition for you. I'd like to touch every inch of your body with mine.

Something very interesting was happening at home.

 

* * *

 

Russell opened his front door to riotous laughter; he hadn't been noticed yet, and so he stood back, taking sight of the strange visual onslaught in his living room.

They were...dancing. Not just dancing, no, they were pressed together in some sort of Latin influenced...he couldn't quite tell what they were doing, but Jen had just spun about, hair flipping just so, and he nearly groaned at the sight of her.

Okay, after the night he'd had, this was a delightfully welcome distraction. This could turn into a bad porno, if he envisioned it just...right...inserting himself just...so...

Instead he simply watched the two of them move, a thought clicking, yelling now to break the moment: "The hell, did you watch Dirty Dancing without me?!"

And so the duo broke apart, Timmy dashing towards Russell with no break for thought. His lips upon Russell's were deep and deliberate, enough to startle the entire room.

Indeed, Jen voiced a shallow, "Whoa." She could not have predicted the intensity of Timmy's attack, feeling suddenly out of place in the center of the apartment. She might have ushered herself out if not for the intrigue of what happened next.

"Come, dance with me!" spoke Timmy in a sudden breath, breaking lips with a smile.

Russell stood awe-struck. "Wh-what?"

"I want to dance, darling, come on, give it a show!"

Russell found himself led toward the living room, stunned, and shrugged Jen's way in passing. "What's...happening?"

"He wants to dance," she offered, stepping back to make room for the men. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, uh, you should have seen the other guy..."

Stopping on the other side of the room, Timmy ran fingers against the grain of Russell's face and a deepening bruise, causing him to flinch and hiss in pain. "In a brawl, were you?"

"Take it easy, dude!" Then, grabbing Timmy's hand and speaking very near his face with a slight smile, he insisted: "Save it for later..."

This was Jen's second sign that she had overstayed her welcome, and still she watched with baffled intrigue. It wasn't often you saw a mating ritual up close.

And so Timmy slank backwards with a soft chuckle, making sure to grasp the top-most button of Russell's shirt as he left. Oh, had he unbuttoned that? Silly Timmy.

And so there fell a dance to silent music, and whatever the song was that played in Timmy's head, Russell approved, for it seemed to be working as something of an aphrodisiac. He reached out a hand which Russell grasped most acceptingly, and yanked him close.

"I'll lead, darling, just follow my feet."

"I...sure?"

A moment later Timmy had spun the poor man around, inciting a yelp until they were pressed together again, doing some sort of makeshift shuffling with their feet. And true enough, Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing, losing all sense of inhibition. When Timmy spun out from him, standing there grooving with some sort of newfound liberation, shimmying with hips that didn't lie, Russell was _really_ enjoying himself, but then he spun back. Russell's hands were sliding down his back, and then Timmy did... _something_.

The man dipped his body backwards, letting himself fall loose in Russell's arms. His head fell backwards, and he gasped just so. And Russell, eyes widening ever so slowly as he glared from perfectly elongated torso to beautifully exposed neck, stood perfectly still, waiting...until at last Timmy sprung forward, all at once, one leg straddling Russell's side, a hand embracing his face, mouth very...near...his.

Russell held breath. "Holy mother of–"

Jen cleared her throat, pushing herself uncomfortably away from...whatever was unfolding now before her, and towards the door. "Maybe I should go," she offered.

"It's been lovely," spoke Timmy in a perfectly normal voice, each word vibrating against Russell's lips.

"I'll call you?"

"We'll do coffee!"

"Sounds great, see ya, Timmy!"

The moment Jen had left the apartment, Timmy's head tilted back just so, a devious smile creeping against his lips, and he moaned softly, a hand crawling slowly upwards along Russell's back.

"Ah...geez. The hell's gotten into you? What happened while I was gone?"

Timmy shrugged away all hints of sensuality from his face, pulling back just far enough to run a finger in soft circles against Russell's chest. "Mm. Friendly chatter. A bit of wine. Your father stopped by."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Russell grabbed at Timmy's hand. "What are you talking about, my dad was here?!"

Timmy sighed, breaking away completely from Russell, now. He motioned towards all of himself, a blunt gesture, quite put out with such objections, having no time for it.

"Russell. You can stand here all night inquiring about your father, or you can have your way with me."

A clever divergence tactic, wrapped in genuine desire. Two for one.

Russell grumbled under his voice, shaking in frustration. He'd been through enough tonight, he needed to relax, but what the hell was Tim talking about? He couldn't distract him that easily. It wouldn't work.

Softly, Timmy ordered: "Take me, Russell. Right now. I...want...you."

"Ah, damn it." They were on the floor a moment later. When he said right now, he took him at his word.


	8. Wherever You Are

It was commonplace, these days. In moments of high anxiety, when the time ahead would better serve them in talking out life's problems, they turned instead to sex.

An avoidance tactic, surely, to replace uncomfortable conversations with the comfort of one another's bodies. 

To think there was ever a time they'd be repulsed by such an act. Strewn across a shared living room floor in desperation; the taste of one another's mouths, soft at first, a deepening exchange of breaths through lungs that gasped light for want of air as heads spun dizzy, then hard and quick as bodies arched and blood rushed.

Beside them lay a pile of clothing; shoes, a suit jacket, a cardigan. Outer layers...as far as they could get before succumbing.

Russell, making his way down Timmy’s slender form, relished the soft laugh of sensuality emerging from the man below him. His hands now grazed eagerly at thighs, knelt between arched legs; he leaned down, growling as he nipped just so at a growing bulge. Here came hands against his head, pulling at his hair, just hard enough to sting.

Russell's pleasured hiss out in pain was enough to allow logic to slip into Timmy's brain. He bit a lip in hesitation, humming out weakly. "The last time we did it on the floor, I had rug burn for weeks..."

Russell heaved irritation, glancing down toward his partner's face. He wouldn’t win, tonight. "Fine, whatever. Picky." He grabbed Timmy’s hand, hoisting him upwards and pulling at an arm.

He was halted abruptly, greeted by a sly smile...and Timmy, slinking slowly backwards, wore his best come-hither look as he held out an arm, motioning Russell forwards with a finger.

"Oh, fuck yes." Russell darted.

Not so fast. Timmy held a hand to Russell's face; he wove a finger with a gentle tsk and, backing up slowly...slooowly...set to silent music a soft grinding of his hips. He was stalled then, the coffee table stifling his backward crawl. Oh...no matter. A graceful step upwards, upon the table, and there he stayed, crawling hands up the length of his body.

Oh, fuck.

Somehow, watching Timmy undress himself tonight was a might less irritating than having to do the work for him in the height of passion. Maybe taking him to those strip clubs against his will once or twice had taught him a thing or two, for he was putting on a good show. Still, there were a lot of buttons on this damned shirt...so many buttons…

Russell, watching Timmy's dance slow as he turned down to unlatch the lower buttons of his shirt, took a risk, speaking through a muffled hand: "Now on the main stage, it's India, spicy treat from the East, and she aims to please, ladies and gentlemen, give a round of applause for India!"

"That's my name, really, that's the best you could do?" Timmy looked down with a risen brow.

"Dude, I just need you naked about five minutes ago."

"Fair enough." With this Timmy yanked apart the remaining buttons of his shirt, dropping it to the floor, leaving only a neatly pressed undershirt. Almost there...still...

“Dude, what’d we say about dressing for sex, how long is this gonna take?!”

Timmy ignored Russell's outcry, a hand sliding beneath fabric, up along the length of his torso, and he groaned very softly.

Russell stood in place, eyes growing quite large, shaking in frustrated anticipation as Timmy carried out the ultimate tease. Hips swerving, a subtle sigh; one hand undoing his pants, fingers easing down below where eyes could see. The hand beneath his shirt pulled higher against his chest, dragging just enough to reveal more skin.

Timmy, catching a glimpse of his audience, wore a devious smile. The squirming was a satisfying sight; let's give him just a little more. And so, as Timmy crossed arms, pulling his shirt upward, covering his face...

 _Take it off, faster, faster..._ Russell's mouth salivated with each fresh inch of skin, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. This was taking way too long.

Russell pounced.

"Oh!" Timmy found himself thrown from the table, landing backwards upon the sofa. "Oh, dear." Still blinded by fabric, Timmy felt hands grasp carelessly in a desperate plea for skin, and, coming face to face once again, shirt lost to floor, he snickered. "Hello, darling, come for a visit?"

He was cut off by a decree of, "You're so hot," and hard lips.

Righting themselves upon the sofa, Timmy sat straight up to find Russell straddling his lap. Breathlessly, the men joined together in lushious laughter, for what reason neither could really be sure. And so Timmy's arms wrapped about Russell, face falling upon his chest, breathing him in deeply.

"We've been over this," said Russell. "Motorboating doesn't work, haven't got the right equipment..."

Timmy pulled back just a touch, gripping a button of Russell's shirt between his teeth, setting about undoing buttons in neat order.

"Geez, I didn't know you could do that," said Russell, leaning back in awe. "What else can you do with that mouth?"

Timmy moaned through a smile, looking up just a moment; and so it was he slid his head to the side, circling a slow lick around a nipple, following up with generous oral attention.

Russell laughed at first. "Dude, that tickles, that's so weird...I didn't...didn't say stop..."

Timmy's head lunged to the other side.

"Oh! Oh, the other one, playing it up a little. Uhm...okay, well, this is fun, but uh..."

Timmy's hand journeyed between Russell's legs; it was Timmy who moaned shortly, as if the very act of touching his lover was exhilarating in this moment.

Russell, eyes practically rolling backwards, appreciated the gesture. He swallowed firmly, reminding himself not to rush matters. "Nng, damn it, you turn me on."

"Everything turns you on," countered Timmy softly through a teasing laugh.

Russell scoffed, insulted. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"

Between soft kisses upon Russell’s chest Timmy elaborated. “Everything. Gusts of wind. Ripe fruit. Malted milk balls.”

From here Russell slid down, meeting eye to eye. "You turn me on. You wanna know how?"

"Oh, do I?" Timmy smiled that quirky, crooked smile that drove Russell just crazy enough that he could hardly think straight.

Russell sighed out long, running soft fingers along the edge of Timmy's face, dissolving his smirk, staring deep into eyes that understood he meant business. Gorgeous, brown eyes that held that pang of love and lust he'd come to know so well.

"Your eyes turn me on," said Russell. He removed Timmy's glasses, laying them aside as fingers fell just so along the edges of his brow. "Your mouth...turns me on." He leaned in, kissing Timmy, but softly, like pinpricks...just enough to set nerves afire. "Ears?" He kissed an earlobe, leading into nibbling. Timmy's gentle giggling at the gesture soon turned to pleasured sighs...then came the slight squirm of desperation.

"R-russell..."

"Shh, shh. Your neck turns me on, baby." Soft kisses fell all along the side of Timmy's neck, grazing a throat which swallowed back a hum of desire. "Your chest..." Russell let fingers walk his mouth down, Timmy's body heaving gently at each touch. "Your stomach really turns me on." As Russell leaned in, licking slowly down the length of Timmy's torso with flickering movements of tongue, his fingers slid just beneath his belt line. "Your--"

"Take me. Right now, take me."

"Yeah?" Soft, just a touch surprised, Russell's eyes darted back to Timmy's face, now locked in want. It was an infrequent verbal request, having found a natural set of signals in an ever evolving sexual relationship. If Timmy aimed to dominate, he made it clear in no uncertain terms. Submission was subtle.

Timmy verbally declaring his desires had emerged initially as a means of pleasuring Russell, for he knew it aroused him, but when he was most sincere...it was obvious.

Timmy's hands journeyed now to Russell's hair, crawling through in standard grace. Then a whip; he tugged his head back, forcing eyes together. And Timmy’s eyes were hungry. "Take me, Russell. I need it."

Russell let loose a deep groan, guttural and wrapped in want. "Oh, man, I'm gonna pound you into next week."

Well, nobody ever accused the man of being high class. 

And Timmy had stated his request in no uncertain terms. Russell made a quick job of his partner’s lower clothing, a shimmy down as Timmy rose willing hips in service. But upon Russell backing up, there came another problem.

He turned behind him, kicking an unwelcome piece of furniture in disgust. "Why do we even have a coffee table?!"

"We drink coffee, sometimes," spoke Timmy through a thickening fog. What was happening? Was sex happening? Why were they discussing coffee?

"Nrrgh!" Russell kicked the table over in frustration, legs gaining the strength of a slightly stronger man, scattering objects across the floor.

"What are you doing…?!" demanded Timmy.

In perfect punctuation, hormones surging from the power of furniture upheaval, Russell aimed to tear the shirt from his body; no good, the buttons were a touch too tight to complete the task Timmy's mouth had started. It never worked like in the movies, the he-man shirt removal...damn. With rising aggravation he removed his shirt in the most boring way possible, then tossed it beside the table in disgust with a slight roar.

Timmy was still peering towards the mess upon the floor.

"Need room for the sex," murmured Russell desperately, taking to his knees and licking a long line up the length of Timmy’s cock. Timmy jolted slightly before settling back down, head falling to the side in pleasure. What table, who, wha...?

Russell turned to kisses all along the shaft; he looked up at Timmy with a grin. "Did I mention your dick turns me on?"

"...You were getting there." Timmy glanced back just in time to see the length of his erection vanish, gliding with polished grace towards Russell’s throat.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Jen!" Adam greeted his wife enthusiastically, despite the fact that she seemed to be moving through the apartment at a rather alarming speed. Funny, she'd been gone all this time, you'd think she'd at least stop to say hello. "Hey, you missed a great episode of Hide and Prejudice..."

She had already disappeared into the bedroom. No matter; he had things to talk about. He'd just talk a little louder.

"See, Jean Claude confronted Genevieve about the affair. It was a huge mess, until this new character showed up, and it turns out...it...uh...I..."

Oh. Jen emerged then, wearing nothing but a...a...nothing. She was wearing nothing.

"Hello," she said. "Have a good night?"

"Uh, babe...? What...what happened over at Timmy's?"

"I'm gonna go hop in a shower," she said. "Did you get dirty while I was gone?"

Adam looked all around the room. "Not...no, not really, kinda just sat around all night watching..." A mischievous grin crept over his face. "Ohhh, you're trying to get me in the shower with you!"

Jen nodded, waving a finger forward. Adam was not slow to follow, but brain forced feet to hiccup. “But, uh...my equipment’s still out of commission…”

“There are ways around that,” assured Jen, vanishing out of sight.

Adam nodded with a satisfied grin; then, rethinking, walked just a touch slower in the direction of his naked wife.

 

* * *

 

“Ohhh, darling.” Timmy pulled one knee to his chest, resting a heel against the edge of the sofa; his hips practically lurched in appreciation. Then one heated word escaped his lips, deep in breath and dripping ecstasy: “ _Marvelous..._ ” 

Russell’s fingers curled in want, willing mouth to stay on course; he took great care in not pounding fists in frustration at the sound of his voice, laced in such deepening sexuality.

Then Timmy moaned, one of those deep, guttural moans that meant business, and Russell was done for.

He pulled away with a gasp, head collapsed against a thigh. “Damn it.” A complicated declaration. _Damn it, how did we end up here? Damn it, you’re fantastic. Damn it, how can you make me want you this much?_ He practically purred against Timmy’s leg with thoughtful, closed eyes.

Timmy fidgeted in need; Russell couldn't last at this.  “Uh…I'm gonna go ahead and fuck you.” Surprisingly gentle, soft, as if a request. “Cool?”

"Cool," Timmy sighed out a bit more urgently; his arms flailed atop the sofa, grasping now as hips bucked ever further towards Russell’s face.

“On your knees, baby.” A loving command, but an urgency rising in his throat, voice suddenly  so gritty with desire there fell no room for discussion. The men met eyes a final moment before Timmy turned, back towards Russell, leaning arms along the top of the sofa...presenting himself for the taking.

And Russell turned then in an instant; though ever lost in raptured lovelust, eyes so sweetly devoted now burned with fire, voice blanket soft now gristled in perversion as he collapsed to floor, hands grasping at flesh in wanton desire. “Ahhh, fuck, this ass!” With a growl, he took a lover’s bite.

Timmy jolted, but smiled just a bit, allowing Russell his overt display; he was being repositioned now, hips yanked just so, Russell spreading him in preparation.

But as Russell stood, rummaging now through the pockets of his pants for emergency lubricant like a good little sex scout, there seemed a complication.

Timmy listened for some time to the rustling of hands in pockets, a familiar sort of sound, and heard Russell’s breathing grow erratic. He wagered a guess.

“Russell...are your pockets full of candy?”

“Just…just a second, baby…”

“Why are your pockets full of candy, I thought we'd discussed this?” Timmy craned back to find, sure enough, Russell rummaging through pant pockets full of hard candies.

“Is now...really the time?” murmured Russell, still digging. “Hypoglycemia…”

“Five pounds in a month,” countered Timmy.

Russell stopped all motions for just a second. “Still fuckable.”

“Prove it, then.” Timmy met Russell’s eyes, demanding firmly: “Fuck me.”

It took Russell some time to process the command; perhaps it had rendered him _too_ aroused to think clearly, for Timmy was forced to clarify the order.

“Now, Russell Dunbar.”

With a low murmur of “Yes, sir,” Russell made quick effort in removing his pants and turning out pockets, leaving more mess upon the floor. One guess who’d be cleaning all that up.

No matter. Worlds better than messes and bickering was the feeling of a warm and eager tongue, followed shortly by slick fingers, and Timmy bit a lip through a satisfied hum, settling in against the sofa.

The man would jump, if he told him to; how pleasantly roles had reversed, thought Timmy with a satisfied smile, and granted Russell a subtle moan upon feeling his cock tease entrance.

Then just a bit more...a tease. “You want it, huh, baby?”

Holding back, Russell could sense the tension in Timmy’s body. He relished these moments. Timmy would beg for it if he worked him hard enough…he liked that. After so much chasing, it was deliciously satisfying.

They both knew how to play the game.

Russell, leaning forward, spoke in near whisper: “I drive you crazy, don't I?” And he pushed forward then, a long slow stroke of entry that forced a verbal gasp from Timmy’s lungs.

Point: Russell.

A few very slow, steady strokes ensured Timmy was at ease. But Russell felt how taught Timmy held an aching body; he heard low groans, and knew he needed more.

Then Russell pulled back, lifting a leg to the sofa for leverage. “Feel good?” He sank as far as he could, muscles tightening in effort.

Timmy resisted reaction, head sinking firm against the top of the sofa.

Cheeky. Russell pulled back slow. A wicked smirk, and then, “Does this…” A hard lunge forward. “Feel good?”

Timmy lurched just a bit. “Mm…!”

Slowly he pulled back, a long tease, nearly withdrawing. “I mean, if it doesn't feel good, if you don't want it…”

“ _Russell!”_ A command, voice risen, laced in rising frustration. Just enough to drive a man to action, and Timmy arched light in satisfaction, body easing as Russell set in motion now a proper rhythm, firm and steady.

Timmy’s pushing back to meet each thrust, to deepen their connection, forced a pleasured smile upon Russell’s face; Russell bit a lip, curtailing verbalizing an over-display of prowess in the act. He placed one hand to Timmy’s back, sliding slowly down and driving nails against a hip in lieu of vocal outcry.

And Timmy voiced a shallow, “ _Damn,_ ” fingers piercing sofa.

While the journey there was often one great tease, the connection fell hypnotic. Words came sparse now, replaced by hard breaths and subtle sounds of satisfaction.

Russell’s hands sought communication, one set of fingers gripping harder the curve of Timmy’s slim shoulder, which tightened just so in response; the other hand traveled to his face, this one a feather touch, to find a cheek press near against his fingers as figures danced together in time, two bodies meant for one another.

And so they danced. It wouldn't be the longest performance of their lives, for they'd craved audience with one another and were eager to perform...but they came well rehearsed, slowing down tonight in liquid desire. They were learning many dances.

Timmy fell so into the deep, hypnotic rhythm of this moment, he nearly missed the telltale signs of Russell’s pique, but one long, broken sigh was enough for him to turn head and speak almost too softly under such circumstances: “You’re there…”

At the sounds of Timmy’s voice Russell pushed just so, forcing Timmy’s hand to move more fervently against his own erection. It was only now that Russell realized what was happening...

“Don’t come on the sofa,” he spoke through shallow breaths, accentuating the order with a deeper thrust and a firm grip upon Timmy’s waist.

Timmy turned his head just a bit further, grinding teeth. “Where...do you suggest…?”

“Save it for me.” The request was punctuated by a low grunt, and retrieval of his cock.

Timmy felt the warmth along his back; Russell made no sounds of release, holding back in his triumph, his only offering arriving upon completion. Standing tall, he looked upon his lover, covered in a fresh coat of sweat and cum...sex paint. “Holy crap, you’re sexy.”

Timmy laughed gently before hard hands pulled at him. He was laying on his back lengthwise upon the sofa a moment later; in the next moment Russell had taken to the floor, placing long licks up the length of a grateful cock.

“I want it all over my face,” Russell asserted matter-of-factly just before his mouth engulfed a large amount of cock, a satisfied slurp accompanying the act.

Timmy’s breath out was an endearing mix of sexual and deliciously happy, nearly laughing in a sort of pleasured glee at Russell’s over-zealousness. How quickly they had shifted gears from Russell’s release to his own...how eagerly he was working Timmy now towards completion with that perfect precision his mouth had so crafted, sending jolts through so many nerves...and here it came, so quickly and so easily.

Timmy had craved him, and was it any wonder; the heat of Russell’s mouth embraced each pulsation with a weak swallow as he allowed a slow descent of cum down the length of his chin. Timmy watched as Russell’s fingers moved slick across his face, eyes closing down, a single finger returning to his mouth.

“Oh…my god...” Timmy collapsed, puddle to sofa, no sooner finding an awkward Russell atop him, kissing his mouth quite drunkenly.

As per usual in such circumstances, he found a moment later a mess of blond collapsed atop him, spent and giddy and nuzzling him, his personal man kitten.

Eyes peered down with a twinkle. “Hey, uh, Tim...we should dance more often.” Impish smile; complete lack of subtlety.

“Do you think so, darling?”

“Uh, think they do lessons at the Y or something…”

With a hearty laugh, Timmy’s arms fell about Russell’s neck, pulling him near.

And everything was peaceful.

There fell a knock upon the door.

Russell held still; no hurry. No rush. Whoever was at the door would leave, and they would stay just...like...this. Perfection. He sighed, kissing Timmy's neck.

Another knock; Timmy was growing less relaxed. "The door..."

"They'll leave." The knocking carried on, and Russell groaned, head burying against Timmy in protection. "Go awaaay."

That was when the front door creaked open, ever so slightly...completely uninvited...and they heard his voice. "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Oh, sh--!" Russell pulled from Timmy in a mad dash, collapsing to the floor with a _thud._ There he set about fixing his pants...those were pants, right? Timmy ducked down off the sofa, naked, finding little choice but to hide and hope as he searched for clothing strewn about the floor.

"Dad!" Russell greeted his father with a smile far too broad to be authentic. "How nice of you to show up unannounced and barge...just, right on in...here." He watched his father walk the length of his apartment without pause for explanation; he diverted eyes only to inspect Timmy, struggling on the floor with his own pants. Nearly there...

"Russell," said Franklin finally. "Did ya get that toaster?" This kid was looking at him sideways. Something was wrong.

"Did I...what?"

"Kimmy said you were out getting her a new toaster. Helluva gal you got there, smart on the eye. Not so smart in the head, but..."

"Uhh..." Timmy tugged at Russell's pant leg, urging him to duck down. Kneeling on the floor, they met in consultation.

"Jennifer is Kimmy. I'm a friend of the family, play along."

"What??"

Timmy, finishing the buttons of a shirt that didn't quite fit, found little time to explain. "It may also serve you to know that you're wearing no shirt at all." He sprung up with a smile, pulling Russell with him. "Mr. Dunbar, back so soon?"

Franklin paused all movement, staring at the men in consideration. He sensed something...off. And the room grew dreadfully still.

"I believe," said Franklin at last, "I've left my wallet here." He took to pacing slow throughout the room, making his way towards the men.

"Oh!" Timmy looked all around, surveying his surroundings. Squinting slightly. "Your...your wallet?"

Russell reached for Timmy’s glasses where they lay upon the sofa; he affixed them upon Timmy's face, a trick he'd learned post-sex, getting just a bit too...close.

"Yes…” Franklin dismissed the spectacle fumbling, though not without some effort. “Was ah, out with a client, went to pay for drinks and ended up with egg..." He made a cracking noise, gesturing towards himself. "All over my face."

Russell, eyes glazed over, could not help but linger on his father's words, resulting in a blank stare.

"Russell?"

"Oh!" At attention, boy. "The egg, on the...the face, with the...money..."

Franklin looked now across the living room floor, noting an upturned coffee table and scattered items. “Redecorating?”

Loudly, Russell turned, finding his husband who had taken to walking the apartment. "Tim, you find the thing?!"

"Wallet!!" Having found the item resting precariously atop a chair, Timmy dashed back towards Franklin; he handed it off, receiving now a most curious once-over.

"You spend a lot of time here, Timmy?"

"Ahh..." Timmy was struggling. Russell, it seemed, was not content to let this happen, for a second later he had wrapped a friendly arm about his waist and pulled him close, neglecting to realize the overt intimacy of the gesture.

"Best buddy, this guy!" He attempted to rustle Timmy's hair; too short, it never really worked. "We, uh...we hang out."

Franklin was still staring, for something seemed decidedly fishy in the claim, but he...couldn't put his finger on it.

"I see. Well, where'd that little lady of yours get to?"

"Sleeping," said Russell quickly. "Tired from...all the...sex."

"The sex!" asserted Timmy, motioning to a half-nude Russell.

"Still has my shirt and everything! From the...the hot, naked sex with my hot, naked wife."

Franklin looked to Timmy. "While you had company?"

"I'm like family, really," assured Timmy.

"And WHOO boy!" Russell nodded assuredly. "When she wants it, she gots to have it. She is a real animal, did I ever tell ya that one, Dad?" He shook Timmy just a touch with this assertion, arm still wrapped about his waist...sending silent signals, perhaps, that he didn't wish to send.

"Oh, I believe it," said Franklin.

"There's this thing she does with her tongue, know what I'm saying...?" Russell's voice rose in a cackle, which his father heartily joined him in.

But ever so slightly, where his hand rested against Timmy's stomach, arm still wrapped so stupidly about him, he allowed his fingers to press into him. Just enough. A message. _I fucking hate this, Tim, get me out of here._ And maybe a bit of, _It's your tongue I'm talking about, I love that thing you do with your tongue._

"Well, I'd best be off," said Timmy, releasing himself at last from Russell's grasp and taking several broad steps away, for he was sure now they were lacking in subtlety. "I've overstayed my welcome, and...Adam will nag so if I turn up late again."

"Adam..." Russell looked on in a desperate plea to understand what the hell was happening.

"Yes, you know how spouses nag. I'm sure Kimmy has her moments."

"Ah." Russell nodded firmly, growing irritated with whatever charade was taking place, nearly forgetting his father's presence. "Yes, Kimmy certainly does more than her fair share of nagging."

Oh. Oh, really? Timmy halted abruptly, taking  one step back towards Russell. "Well, I'm...sure Kimmy has her reasons," he assured, irked in tone.

Franklin stood by silently, observant.

"Treats me like a kid, is what she does," Russell replied. He chuckled. "Women. Am I right, fellas?"

"PERHAPS," ventured Timmy, "if you acted more your age--"

"Oh, here we go."

"She'd find no reason to treat you with such a parental hand."

"That right?" Russell folded arms.

"If one might wager a guess," replied Timmy, mirroring the gesture.

"Uh...huh. Well, uh...sounds to me like Kimmy's horse is a little high."

"Or, alternate theory," said Timmy, easing further Russell's direction, "your partner merely has your best interest in mind. Perhaps if you were to take some time to observe and evaluate your actions..."

"Well, perhaps if Kimmy were to chill out?! Perhaps if she were to realize she doesn't have to watch my every move like a hawk, realize she isn't still my assista--"

Timmy closed the distance between them, placing a hand against Russell's mouth; he turned to Franklin with a smile, retrieving his hand as he walked a slow pace away from Kimmy's loudmouth husband.

Russell, turning a slow, robotic circle towards his father, eked out carefully: "Naturally, I'm sure she means well."

Having witnessed Russell and Timmy in the midst of such bickering, Franklin now stood very still, paused in reflection; and so the men, sure a string of queries was imminent, stood their ground, preparing for the fallout.

"I'll see you boys, later." Franklin turned to leave, two pairs of shoulders dropping in relief behind his back. There stood two men at attention a moment later upon his turning back to face them. "Ah, hell, look at me. Forget my head if it wasn't so good lookin'."

"Ha!" Russell laughed, only once, then shrugged Timmy's way.

"Say, Russell, we're forging ahead with that project we discussed last month."

"Oh, the, ah..." Russell's voice caved a little. "The charitable division."

"That's the one. Gonna need your help mounting that thing, got a lot of people watching us on this, publicity's gonna be up the wazoo, you know how it is."

"Yeah...sure."

"I'll be in touch. And...hit the gym once in awhile, huh? Couldn't hurt."

As soon as the apartment door was closed, taking Franklin Dunbar with it, Timmy sighed out heavily in relief. "I can't believe that just happened. You have no idea how much trouble your father has caused today, I...Russell?"

He had collapsed, right at Timmy's feet. Timmy, kneeling down, patted Russell's face with a soothing hand. "Comfortable?"

"The hell just happened?"

"Your father happened. He's made a habit of happening, today. I'm afraid we're rather caught up in it, now." Clearing his throat, he repeated Russell's earlier affirmation of: "We 'hang out'?"

"Sure. Hang out, screw, whatever. Guy stuff." Russell tried to hoist himself up, failing dramatically. "Gonna just...just lay here a minute." And he did, flat on his back.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Timmy didn't wait for an answer, joining Russell on the floor, grasping a limp, defeated hand. Russell's fingers willed themselves to move upon his touch, linking with his.

And there they lay, staring at a comfortingly boring ceiling.

"Oh," said Timmy after some time, "whatever happened with Emily and Kevin?" He reached across with his free hand, touching Russell's bruised face just a moment.

"Hss. Yeah, now ya ask, seriously? Walk in here, you're like Queen Nympho from Planet Sex or something. Jen spike your drink?"

"No, I just..."

"Jen turn you on?"

The question took Timmy back so that he failed to answer immediately, forcing Russell to spit out a laugh. Timmy's rebuttal was nothing short of defensive. "No! Of course she didn't! I mean, not that she couldn't...that she isn't...I simply mean to say..."

"Sure thing, Mr. I-Hate-Boobs."

"I hate you, you know."

"Sure thing, Mr. I-Just-Had-Your-Dick-In-My--"

"Who hit you, was it Emily?"

Russell gasped sharply. "That's your first guess, that Emily gave me a shiner like this?! Gimme a little credit, here!"

"Her mother again?" posed Timmy with a hint of a smirk.

Russell shoved at Timmy with a leg. "Her...'dad' or whatever," Russell mumbled.

"Ah." Somehow, this seemed enough of an explanation in the moment. "So too many fathers spoiled the soup tonight."

"What was my dad doing here...?"

Timmy sighed out very long. "We can't keep up this charade, Russell. He's going to find out, is it really worth all of this? The man walked in on us post-sex..."

There came a long silence from Russell. No reply. Okay, then.

"You're married to Jennifer. Her name is Kimmy."

"Okay, cool, I'm down with that."

"Make-believe. It seems I've married Adam."

"Got it. What's his name?"

"Adam."

"Ew," said Russell. "Stupid, should've given him a cooler name. Like, uh...like Buck, or something."

"Buck?" asked Timmy, laughing lightly. "Why Buck?"

"I dunno. Buck...Buck Rhodes. Buck and Timmy Rhodes. Gross, sounds terrible, terrible fake husband, why'd you marry that guy? Stay fake married to me."

Timmy turned, propping upon an arm and looking down on Russell. "Real married."

"Oh, yeah. Hey, how's that a thing?"

Timmy shrugged a shoulder before leaning down to place a kiss against Russell's lips. "Accidents happen."

 

* * *

 

“Mmm...yeah, baby, that's so good…” Adam groaned in pleasure. “Just like that.”

Jennifer groused behind a grinning Adam in the shower; she continued to massage his scalp beneath a steady stream of water, working shampoo to a neat foam. “This isn't what I had in mind.”

“I'll do you next,” he assured her, turning swiftly around. He supplied a wink. “Sensual little scalp massage, huh?”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Yeah, I've got a better idea…” Slowly, she pushed his head down below the water, his body drifting down...lower, lower…

“Where am I go-- oh! Yeah, okay.”

Jen gasped, grasping Adam’s head in satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

"Are you still in the shower?" called Russell.

Timmy stood in the center of a stream of water, staring at his own two feet. He watched the water slowly pool and spin away, never quite able to grasp sight of it long enough to keep it, much like each thought drifting through his head this evening, swirling down an endless, spiraling drain.

He pitied his own analogy, sniffling softly as he blinked away fresh anxiety over the very state of anxiety itself.

"Dude, water bill's gonna skyrocket." An arm pulled back the curtain, Russell's naked body leaning against the edge of the tub.

"It helps me think."

"That's all you do is think, you want your brain to explode in a million pieces, or something?" Russell stepped into the shower behind Timmy, closing the curtain and wrapping arms tight about his waist. "Stop thinking, right now."

"Russell, I just..."

With a nuzzle of his neck, he shook him gently. "Do iiiit!" He heard a welcome laugh from Timmy, just enough. "Good. Now, you clean everything?"

"What?"

"Between your toes? Beee...hind your ears?" Russell nibbled at an earlobe, eliciting soft sniggers. Perfect.

"Is this a come-on?" asked Timmy.

"I dunno, you tell me."

"It is, and what, not an hour after sex? Naturally." Timmy sighed, body tensing a touch. "This is also the part where your father shows up again from behind the curtain, wielding a knife."

Russell loosened his grip on Timmy at such a mortifying suggestion, leaving room for his partner to exit the shower. There Russell stood alone, petrified, water turning just a touch cold against his skin.

Talk about a boner killer.

 

* * *

 

“STOP!”

Adam emerged from beneath a silken sheet where he lay atop Jen; he reached across the bed towards a box of assorted sexual devices. “Ready for…?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you're already wearing the--”

“I can't.”

Adam stared, mystified. “You...wanna try the shower again, or…? I’m sorry the shampoo got in your eyes. The stuff says no tears, you can’t trust those labels.”

She nearly cried out a low whine. “I can’t stop thinking about it…”

“About what, the shampoo? Y’know, tomorrow I’m gonna write an angry letter….”

“About them doing it!”

“Who...what? _We’re_ doing it!” Adam lay atop Jen; he thrust hips in emphasis, despite a grounded penis.“What are you talking about?!”

“Timmy and Russell, he was all over him, they’re probably having sex right now…”

This is why they’d stopped?! “Yeah, Jen, _we’re_ having sex right now!”

She took a slow breath to clear her mind, bringing herself back to reality. She felt the cool, smooth muscles of Adam’s back, and offered him a sweet smile, wrapping a leg slow about him. “Okay, I think I can cut out Russell.”

“Okay, great,” said Adam in relief, grinning down as he leaned in for a ki-- “Wait. Wait, so you’re still thinking about Timmy?”

“Hey, Adam? I’m ready.”

“But…”

“We’re doing this. Turn around.”

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

 

* * *

 

"Good news, my dad didn't show up with a knife," Russell assured Timmy with a chuckle, joining him at the bathroom sink. "Checked the closets, and everything."

"Yes, well, your father isn't the one hiding in a closet." Timmy side-eyed Russell's reflection for emphasis.

It appeared Russell had little to say in response, clearing his throat and reaching across the counter for his toothbrush. He examined a tube of toothpaste thoughtfully. "Don't like this stuff, like the spearmint better."

"I literally hid in a closet today while our friend pretended to be your wife."

"It's more of a mellow mint, y'know?"

"When I did confront your father, I had to lie my way out of our relationship."

Russell held the tube up for Timmy. "New, improved flavor, heh. We'll see."

Timmy turned his head down, a low, familiar rumble of anger just beginning to rise in the back of his throat. Russell could feel the frustration, a sensation permeating from Timmy's body.

"Tim...Tim, don't be mad..."

"Did you tell your father that you fired me? Is that what you tell people?"

Whoa. Whoa, what? Where did that come from? Russell stammered a moment. He unscrewed the cap from the toothpaste. "Uhh...y'know what, maybe a long time ago, I can't even... Everything before we kissed that day? Can't remember, just, you flooded my brain with those love hormones...because I just _love_ you so much..."

"What was he talking about, a charitable division?"

Whoa, abrupt shift. What was with the third degree? Russell's heart beat fast. He spoke quickly, as if rushing words could cover his sudden anxiety.

"Ugh, that thing? Something about low income housing, urban development, orphans maybe? I dunno, lotta mumbo jumbo in that proposal. Found something from a couple years ago in the files." He paused, applying toothpaste to brush. Distraction.

"Russell..."

Toothbrush in mouth. Brushing teeth, hoping to cover his mumblings, but Timmy understood every word. "So we're starting base level development. He's got this image thing suddenly in his craw, trying to get all PC and keep everybody happy. Think he's got people crawling up his butt or something, got slapped with too many lawsuits. Keeps his image good if he introduces a few of these pet projects."

"Russell!!"

"What?"

"He said you sent him a proposal...whose proposal?"

Russell diverted eye contact, spitting and rinsing before answering. "I uh...dunno, I forget."

"My proposal." Timmy watched as Russell's face froze in the mirror, growing subtly more fearful of the words to come. "The one I wrote years ago. The one I kept bringing up to you repeatedly, the one you repeatedly failed to read."

"Uhhhh..."

"And when you finally read it, you told me there's no money in charity and that I should focus my time on seeking out somebody willing to donate to my sexual relief fund...since I clearly wasn't getting any."

"Well, uh." Russell chuckled nervously. "Didn't work, huh? I can vouch for the fact you're gettin' it plenty now...hold applause...and you're still super tense, man. Chillax."

"Chillax? Chillax?!" Timmy reached past Russell, grabbing his toothbrush. Then, emotions rising, he put the brush back, turning in the direction of the bedroom.

As Timmy's reflection vanished from sight, Russell stared at himself in the mirror, wallowing in shame lined with irritation; so he'd screwed up again. So Timmy had stormed off angry. Again. With a weary moan, he turned towards the bedroom, finding Timmy already in bed.

"You're not gonna brush your teeth? C'mon, you can't feel all those cavity monsters nibbling away at the enamel? Have you ever not brushed twice a day? Proper hygiene, gotta be a good little Indian Scout."

Timmy grimaced, turning his head away with a huff.

Russell placed a mental checkmark in his list of 'stupid things I've said this week' before easing forward cautiously. "Tim...babe, c'mon...I'm sorry, okay? My dad called last month, he'd been breathing down my neck about this thing, like it was my job or something. I rummaged through a box in the office...he finally shut up, said it would keep the investors happy. What was I supposed to do, huh?"

Timmy set his sights hesitantly back on Russell. "Why did you even still have that proposal?"

"I have a bunch of your stuff. Since you quit that day, whenever I went through files or...when I rummaged your old desk, and something had your name on it, it went in this box."

"In the garbage, more likely."

"It goes...in...the box." Russell spoke with firm veracity, eyes locked on Timmy's shifting figure. "I don't throw you away anymore."

Timmy sat up hesitantly along the edge of the bed, believing the words. He patted the space next to him in offering, allowing Russell to sit beside him. It had been a rough day for both of them. No more fighting. What was the use?

After a long silence, after what appeared a great deal of thought on Timmy's part, there came a soft appeal for peace. "I don't work there, anymore. And...I suppose, in a sense...what's mine is yours." There felt a sadness in his voice, though neither of them could untangle it.

Russell reached for Timmy's hand, interlocking fingers lightly. "Should've looked at your proposal. At all of your proposals." He gripped a touch tighter. "Lot I should have done..."

"Not right now, Russell."

There came a breath from Russell then, as if perhaps he aimed to speak; he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"What is it?" asked Timmy.

"Stupid..."

"What?"

"What my dad said, about uh...looking for somebody to head that department, I just..." Russell ran his free hand against his face, a long breath out. "It's your project, Tim."

"I've moved on, Russell..."

"Yeah, no, sure, of course. Sure."

A soft voice floated out then, an attempt at connection, from Timmy’s lips to Russell’s ears. “I'm always with you. Wherever you are.”

Russell laid his head soft against Timmy's shoulder, holding back emotion. "Just...just throwing it out there.” The words had sunk in like an anchor, twisting down. “New job's going good, right?"

"Yes...yes, of course..." A sudden hesitance.

"Making friends up there?"

"Mm...well, I..."

"Enemies?"

At this Timmy's body stiffened just a bit, and Russell sensed something wrong. He thought better than to question it, favoring tonight the comforting feel of his face against the nape of Timmy's neck; warm and smooth. He focused now on both their breaths, forcing his lungs to fall in sync with Timmy's as his eyes closed down.

"I love you," Russell said. Very softly, nearly a whisper. "I'm sorry," he added.

Timmy wished he would stop apologizing after telling him he loved him. It just fell out of him at times, as if a gut reflex, having so much to apologize for.

Timmy led Russell lengthwise upon the bed; laying against him, head upon chest, he spoke words of reassurance: "I love you, Rusty. Unapologetically."

Russell sighed out, pulling Timmy close. "Man, am I ever glad you chose to hang out with me."

 

* * *

 

“Holy crap, that was great,” sighed Jen, throwing herself apart from Adam upon the bed. Both sweating; both panting. That was a real workout. 

Adam grinned from ear to ear. “Yeah, it was! Oh, man, you’re a real animal when I get you goin’, huh?”

“Pft, yeah,” she replied, grinning wickedly. “Not so bad yourself, tiger.”

A weak growl. “Yeah...yeah.” Smile waning. The room fell slowly silent. A pertinent question filled the air. “Hey, uh...babe, were you...were you thinking about Timmy?”

Jen’s eyes darted in thought. They grew quite large in realization. Then, removing herself from bed, she walked briskly from the room, towards the bathroom, and slammed the door, speaking not another word.


End file.
